If you know me, mornings are not especially my favorite part of the day. It takes me a while to really get going. And since I’m not a coffee drinker, I rely on my showers to wake me up. But the other morning, my adrenaline got so ramped up that I went from hazy to alert in under 2.3 seconds.
Dozily I stepped into the warm shower and pulled the curtain. In my shampoo-lathered stupor, something caught my eye through the opaque shower curtain lining. I tried to tell my brain that it was part of the design of the decorative shower curtain. My brain wasn’t falling for that trick though… it knew something was wrong, and sent the message to my adrenal glands and I was wide awake.
The biggest centipede I have ever seen. It was at least 5 or 6 inches long and fatter than an earthworm. I would have commenced the ‘freak out’ dance if I wasn’t worried about slipping and falling in the shower. Yep… here he is:
Obviously there wasn’t much I could do about it since I was mid-shower. Screaming for help was totally out of the question. And since he wasn’t moving, there was no point trying to kill it until I had a clear get-away path. So keeping a very wary eye on the multi-legged monster, I finished my shower in record time. Round one: fail.
I dried off while formulating a plan to rid myself of this unwanted bug. I decided that I wanted to contain him in the bathtub so he couldn’t escape and disappear. I carefully and gently got up on the side of the tub and slowly pulled the opaque liner away from the curtain. There he was, clinging to the curtain. With my other hand, I reached around to the front of the curtain and gave it a very quick flick with my finger, sending the centipede sailing into the tub. Round two: success!
Now with smaller, hairier centipedes, I usually turn on the water and let them run down the drain. So, logically, it should work again, right? Oh so wrong. While I tried to wash it down the drain, this centipede tried to serpentine away. It was too fat to fit down the drain. Round three: fail.
Ok, now what? I would apparently need to use more drastic measures than previously thought. I frantically looked around my bathroom for a weapon I could use to defeat my foe. Ah-ha! A broom! I grabbed it and began to wail on this intruder. I hit him over and over and over again. Muwahahahaha! Wait, what? He’s still slithering?! Round four: epic fail.
Deep breaths… stay calm. You will not be beat by this! You are smarter than this million-legged freak! What does one usually do with unwanted bugs to make sure they don’t come back? Flush them! Problem is, this guy was bigger than a Kleenex. So how was I going to scoop him up and avoid him crawling on me? Paper towels seemed to be my answer. Biting my lip so I didn’t scream, I quickly dove for the monster with a wad of paper towels in my hand. Got him! Now quickly to the toilet. But on the four foot journey to his watery grave, he somehow wiggled out of the paper towels and dove to the floor. Round five: fail.
BAH! Now he was on the floor! He was no longer contained! And he was trying to serpentine away from me. Thankfully because I gave him a good dousing of water, his little legs were so wet that he could not gain any traction on the tile floor. I dropped to my knees, flung open the toilet seat lid with one hand, grabbed him up with the paper towels in the other hand and slam dunked him into the toilet. FLUSH! Round six: success.
Victory was mine! I sat on the floor panting… wondering if I should scream or laugh. It was definitely time for a heebie-jeebie dance though!
Here’s a better picture of what my nemesis looked like:
I think it was noon before my adrenaline returned to normal.