Don’t Bug Me!

I know I have written before about my fear of bugs. As a child, I only saw a bug in the house once, and my mother quickly dispensed with it. Outside, where bugs were allowed to live, I would try my best to coexist. I have written about my house experience on Long Island, where each season, I had a bug that wanted to take over my house. I had the house sprayed and bombed. After a cleanup of dead bugs, there was a lull until the bug activity started again. The weirdest bug to invade that Long Island home was called a “long-horned borer. I was told he hopped in on some logs we would use in our wood-burning fireplace.

When we moved to Virginia and had the opportunity to build our house, I was sure it would be bug-free.

It wasn’t meant to be. The bugs were more giant and scary this time, at least to me. One night, my husband watched a battle between a wolf spider and another kind of spider. I did not appreciate the fight. I was just glad when it was over. (Yeah, Wolfie won ).

When we first came, and for several years after, I battled the bugs inside the house. We hired an exterminator, and within a few months, the bugs were happily displaced to the exterior, where they belonged.

The business we used, which had successfully kept the house bug-free, started needing help with workers. Instead of a regular guy showing up for each appointment, a new face appeared every time.

Evidently, they didn’t care about what they were doing. They were in and out in 10 minutes, including the inside and outside of the house perimeter. I saw no difference in the critters' webs and trails after they came to clean. It got so bad that I couldn’t sit on my front porch, which was a pity as it overlooked a pretty lake.

I called and complained. I’m sorry they are having problems with employees, but now they are having trouble with the customers, namely ME!

This came to a head a few days ago when I walked into the bathroom and saw one of the most enormous house centipedes I have ever seen in the Jacuzzi. I went into a rage and smashed that monster. I got the vacuum and sucked up the pieces left. I knew where there was one, that there was more. I will not use that bathtub until a couple of months go by and it is centipede-free. I thought that was it, but NO! I went upstairs to find a book I was looking for and encountered a sizeable wood roach instead. It, luckily, was dead. But how the hell did it get there? I got out the vacuum that I keep upstairs and was so upset I couldn’t find the connection to separate the hose to suck it up. It took me about 15 minutes to figure it out.

I called the exterminator and was told someone would get back to me. They neglected to say when.

Finally, three nights ago, it had just gotten dark, so I walked into my bedroom and turned on the light. The most giant wood roach I have ever seen was on the wall opposite the door. It was lazily crawling up a wall. That was it! I screamed for my husband. He had just had open heart surgery two weeks before, but I was not going to fight this battle alone!

He swished the bug to the floor, pulverizing it with my slipper. Then, the roach was summarily flushed down the toilet.

I know it’s childish and ridiculous, but I haven’t slept in the bedroom since. I called the exterminator and told them this was the final chance. I was given a name and told he would call the next day with the time he was coming. He called alright but told me there was no way he could be here until after the weekend.

Is anyone happy with their exterminator?