I had trouble sleeping again last night. After tossing and turning, shutting the light off, then on, then reading, then lying quietly with my eyes closed, I gave up and decided to get a glass of water.
I went down to the kitchen and flipped on the light.
An impossibly huge carpet monster fell off the wall.
What’s a carpet monster, you say? One of these little bastards, so dubbed in our home due to the fact that they blend perfectly with our carpet, so you could be walking within inches of one and never even know:
Ew ew ew ew EW EW EW.
It would’ve startled you, too, something furry flopping onto the floor then running straight at you. I screamed like an impossibly sissy girl and ran in a rough circle, trying to scare the thing the way it had scared me so it would run away and not touch my feet with its horrible, horrible legs.
It moved like lightning on crack. I was getting ready to propel myself ass-first up onto the counter when it zoomed past, waving at me with its million legs, and hid under the fridge. I was alternately paralyzed with horror and…well. You should know this about me: when I am overtired, like really, really sleep deprived, I get the giggles. The smallest, unfunniest thing will make me laugh until I cry and choke on my own saliva. It’s so sexy, you don’t even know.
So here I am, backed against the counter, and it occurs to me how silly I’m being, and my brain knows this but my body doesn’t give a shit what my brain has to say and I am completely unable to move. I’m stuck there, laughing and shrieking and finally C comes in to check whether I have completely lost my mind.
I manage to cross the room and perch on a bar stool, feet tucked up under me so the thing can’t get them.
C says, “I gotta see this thing.” And what does he do? He gets down on the floor in front of the fridge and tries to lure it out.
The whole time, I’m gigglescreaming uncontrollably and panicking that it’s going to get on him and he’s poking around under there with his bare hands and the whole scene was just not cool.
He never did find it. And I don’t think he believed me when I told him it was the size of a mouse.
To be fair, a house centipede isn’t dangerous. They’re supposedly helpful and eat other bugs or some shit. I don’t care. What I care about is that there’s an unholy creature with a billion legs made of pure hatred running around this house and IT’S ABLE TO CLIMB WALLS. Which means IT COULD FALL ON ME. And EAT MY BRAIN. Totally unacceptable.
sniderwriter 