The Jesus of Bugs

Short of the Tea Party, there are few things that frighten me. I've said it before: thunderstorms and heavy winds scare the you-know-what outta me. Spiders, the thought of my kids getting into cars driven by anyone other than parents, and wrinkles... these things also give me the heebeejeebees.

Yesterday, I talked about a dirty little secret of South Carolina: the unbearable, gut-wrenching, air-conditioner-murdering heat. But, there's another one; though, this secret is of the creepy crawly sort. The screaming like a baby sort. The kind that makes you itch all over. The kind that makes grown men run for their mamas. In this state, some folks call them 'waterbugs.' Most politely refer to them as 'Palmetto bugs,' and this has got to be an allusion of the notion that these things are our state animal. Anyone else, anywhere else knows them as nasty, rotten cockroaches. Just typing that word makes me shiver and cringe.

Growing up in the middle of SC, I didn't notice them so much. Maybe it was that I didn't pay them much mind. When I went to college in Charleston, though, their presence was either much heavier or I was more aware of the suckers. Regardless, all of a sudden, it became abundantly clear that they are every freaking where. Everywhere. Walking through the streets of downtown, they keep pace and scurry about travelers' feet. Ewww. Seriously. Those things are like a dirty escort service. And, they're loud; you can hear them scutter by.

Not only that, but they are nearly impossible to kill. For real...they've outlasted most species on this planet. They've been around for like 350 million years. Even multiple ice ages and shifting of continents couldn't defeat the mighty cockroach. Humans are no threat to them. Not. At. All. This is something I've experienced first hand. I've smushed them and flushed them, and actually seen them rise from the dead out of toilets. They're like the Jesus of bugs. 

Having moved back here from lands where not even mosquitoes survive, I've really taken notice of the fact that they plentifully inhabit the middle of this state. Maybe it's this summer. Maybe they've migrated away from the coast. I don't know, but, good lord, these things are F.R.E.A.K.I.N.G. me out. Freaking. They keep flocking to me. Like, if they are the Jesus of bugs, then I am the Alpha and Omega. And, I don't handle them well. I'm not above calling one of the kids over to "take care of the problem" for me. If they're not available, I've been known to just get in the car and leave. 

Over the past few weeks, I've been doing some boxing up and cleaning and stuff. Those who know me know I do this mostly in the evening hours...it's just when I work the best...and also when I don't have to spend all my time managing E and S. Anyway. I was organizing the room over the garage, and I had the attic door open to move things around, and what happened to me as I was leaning into the crawl space nearly had me calling an EMT to make sure my stats were okay. A flipping Palmetto bug FLEW out of the rafter and LANDED ON MY FACE. LATCHED ONTO MY FACE. Like a baby nursing its mother. After I wrangled the sumbitch off, I woke up Matt to rescue me. Needless to say, I was done with the work that night, and I went directly to the valium and took a hot shower.

Moral of the story: Beware of the cockroaches of South Carolina. They're just as dirty, persistent, and obnoxious as the Tea Party.