My mom called and I was telling her about my intruder. Well, intruders. I hate it when you come home and find some miscreant scampering through your apartment, hundreds of legs flying wildly while he darts across your wall.
I'm happy to report that there are two less miscreants in the world now, replaced by a few smudgy flip-flop marks on my wall. You're welcome, world.
My mom misunderstood and thought I'd killed these nasty beasties with my car--not that I was behind the wheel while we had this conversation or anything...ahem. But, while they were enormous and intimidating, they weren't quite large enough that I could have seen, aimed for, and obliterated them with Dirk the Blue Impala.
Just the thought of a centipede that big makes me shiver. I saw some in Thailand that were huge. I mean, huge. Their feet were bigger than mine. One asked me for directions. (Just kidding! It asked Mae. I don't speak Thai.)
So maybe I exaggerate a tad, but they were easily five or six inches. Few sights I've beheld were quite as appalling.
Which makes me so grateful that, even when I do get unwelcome guests darting through my space, they're not big enough to hit back.
Thank you, Jesus, that there are not too many bugs in my space. Please kill any who cross the threshold. Thank you for the bug man who comes to spray, and for the courage to karate-shoe the intruders who make it past the chemical barriers he erects.
And thank you that you are bigger and stronger than even Thai centipedes. All my love.