|RB on the bathroom floor|
Last week, on one of my middle-of-the-night pees, I stepped on something squishy in the bathroom. I was kind of grossed out because it was dark and I thought it was some sort of cockroach, known in these tropical parts as gargantuan flying Palmetto bugs. The bane of my existence. The kind that, when flattened, smell like the almond scent of Vidal Sassoon shampoo. The one thing that can make me stop eating something really yummy in mid-bite. And spit the remainder out. The thing that I found, when I was 11 years old, at the bottom of my frozen slushy drink at the Matheson Hammock snack bar that I had sucked down at a speed faster than a middle aged man’s urination stream.
And stepping on a bug in the middle of the night wouldn’t be that far fetched since we fired our exterminator a few months ago. And haven’t replaced him. (I thought I had heard him going through my underwear drawer one time when he was upstairs way too long to just be spraying for bugs.) So before I sat down on the toilet, just to make sure that the bug wouldn’t come crawl up my vagina while I peed, I turned on the light and was relieved to see that all it was was one of those thick rubber bands. The kind you use to bind together bundles of cash. Or a bunch of vibrators. I left the rubber band there, turned the light off, did my business and went back to bed.
The next morning, when I walked in to the bathroom like I always do first thing in the morning, I stepped on it again. And was briefly disgusted until I remembered, “Oh yeah, it’s just one of those big rubber bands.” I left it there again and again and again until finally, I left town for a few days. When I got back, the rubber band was still there. I’m not sure who I thought would have moved it. Certainly not my husband who is too tired to even see it. Nor my kids who wouldn’t even register any curiosity as to why there is a large rubber band on my bathroom floor or even consider picking it up.
And lastly, me. And I thought he looked kind of sweet, just lying there on the tile floor. So this morning, after stepping on him again for the thousandth time, I looked at RB kind of fondly and thought that I should take a portrait of my favorite non-Palmetto bug rubber band.
RB is going to stick around for a while. But I’m not going to take even the slightest risk that someone may pick him up and put him somewhere else. I’ve moved him to the safety of my underwear drawer, happy that I fired the exterminator and, now, don’t have to worry about him stealing RB. I’m sure RB will be very happy and comfortable there amidst all of the thongs, bikinis and bras. See for yourself.
|RB ensconced in my underwear drawer|