My Daughter and I were in the kitchen this evening. I was making a salad, and she was loading the diswasher. I took a can of black olives out of the pantry, and opened it and asked her to find me a storage container from the wall-mounted cabinet next to the stove.
She opend the cabinet and began producing containers and lids that were either too big or too small (and of course the lids never match.) SHe said, “I think I see a Roach in there.” She hates roaches.
I began emptying out the cabinet, onto the stove top. The two glass pyrex measuring cups, nested together, the green plastic stawberry basket with dried beans, I was reaching for one of the three cans of salt, when this bug flew straight towards my face,
and I ducked and screamed,
and so did my Daughter.
And the Roach began to run across the floor (and he was a large Roach) and I got him. Then I laughed. I told my Daughter I would have to amend my previous post, “Did you know Fire Ants can swim,” because I had written that I could muster up some unconditional love for the Roach, but not the Fire Ant.
My Daughter nodded sagely, “sounds like Conditional Love to me!”