Alex and I are back in Houston after a lovely couple of days sitting on the porch of a beautiful beachhouse in Galveston, just a-swangin'. We bonded with our friend Trish, we went to Moody Gardens Aquarium where, in Alex's words, "WE TOUCHED A STAAAARFISH!!!!" And we had a truly nervewracking encounter with a Texas Cockroach (note the caps), but even yet, our little Galveston adventure was lovely.
Before those of you in cooler climes start snickering that I would find an encounter with a cockroach blogworthy, allow me to correct any misconceptions you might otherwise be harbouring: Texas Cockroaches Are Different. First of all, they are huge. They fly. And unlike their northern cousins, which one might associate with filth or uncleanliness, trust me when I tell you that Texas Cockroaches are emboldened by their unusual size and flying skills, and are therefore of an adventurous and exploratory sort -- they could care less if you're messy or as neat as a pin. Seriously, if you ever hear anyone who has lived in Texas for more than a year boast that they've never seen a cockroach in their home (usually followed by some sort of superior comment like, "It must be because I keep an exceptionally clean house"), hear me now: THEY ARE LYING. They most certainly HAVE seen a Texas Cockroach. And if you want proof, just check under their kitchen sink -- I guarantee you they have an industrial-size can of Raid waiting to be called into duty at a moment's notice. And while you're at it, pick it up -- I bet you it's half-empty.
ANYWAY.
So last night, I couldn't sleep. Alex was passed out next to me, exhausted from the day's excitement, crescendoing in our touching of the STAAAARFISH. We were lying in the king size bed of this immaculately kept, beautiful beach house, owned by a group of friends who kindly lent it to us for a few days' R&R. I had turned on the dim light on the nightstand so I could read one of the Architectural Digests that had been displayed on the living room coffee table, occasionally glancing at Alex's sleeping form, and marvelling at how wonderful life is in general.
Suddenly, I glanced over at the quilt haphazardly thrown across Alex's body, and noticed a strange aberration in the pattern. Hmm, I thought to myself, that looks almost like a cockroach.
And then it moved.
It was, indeed, one of the legendary Texas Cockroaches. I sat there for a second, frozen. This thing was huge: I'm pretty sure that had I not been so singularly aghast at the time, and had, instead, kept my wits about me, I would've considered the financial windfall to be gained by simply taming the thing and CHARGING SMALL CHILDREN FOR RIDES ON IT. It was colossal, man. And it was ON MY CHILD.
And then, horrified, I watched as it turned and smiled at me.
It was at this point I finally sprang into action. Like a lioness protecting her cub, I let out a stifled shriek and threw my end of the quilt over the beast, and then folded the quilt again on itself, and off of Alex. However, this Texas Cockroach was built for speed: every time I folded the quilt on top of it, it would skittle out another side. Eventually, I found myself hopping around the bed, and it was like some horrible danse macabre: I would fold, and he would skittle. I would fold, and he would skittle. Throughout this Texas two-step I was uttering stifled, gutteral "eeps!" trying my best not to wake Trish or Alex, but increasingly feeling panic clutch at my heart like the cold hand of death.
Finally, I managed to wrestle the quilt and the Cockroach out of the room and into the hallway, slamming the door shut as quietly as I could.
I swear to God I heard a soft knock.
Clearly, after this encounter, there was no way I was going back to sleep. I sat bolt upright in the bed, quietly convulsing, and thanking the Lord above that I was AWAKE when this thing decided to show up in our bed, and wondering to myself how Trish would've contacted Marcus in the middle of the Canadian wilds to tell him that she found his wife and daughter lying in a pool of their own blood, clear Texas Cockroach fang marks all over their lifeless bodies. I never did turn off the light that night -- not only because I was scared, but because I believe that Texas Cockroaches, much like their vampire counterparts, prefer the darkness to the light, and so therefore the light would keep the beast (and any of its ambitious colleagues who might feel the need to help their enquilted friend) out of the room and into the hallway.
Eventually, of course, I succumbed to fatigue and passed out next to Alex. It was a fitful sleep, however -- not so much because I was fearful, as I was freezing without the quilt, and there was no way I was venturing outside of the room to turn down the air conditioner. When morning came, and Trish came out of her room to find the quilt lying in the hallway, and me stuttering an explanation, she merely raised one eyebrow at me and went to make coffee. We've been friends a long time, Trish and I.
Later, I found the carcass of a much smaller cockroach lying in the bedroom. All Trish can think of is how I am prone to hyperbole, and obviously the cockroach was never as big as I made it out to be. Whatever. Clearly the cockroach SHRANK ITSELF TO FIT UNDER THE DOOR TO COME BACK IN THE ROOM, to get ME AND MY DAUGHTER, and thankfully died in the attempt.
So.
Anyway, on to more pleasant things. Here's a picture of Alex relaxing on one of the rocking chairs on the porch:
And here's a picture of Alex's friend, Olivia the Pig, relaxing on the same rocking chair the next morning:
And here's Olivia the Pig, relaxing, from the front:
And this is the view that Alex and Olivia were looking at while they relaxed:
And speaking of views, here's the latest picture Marcus has sent me from his trek through the Canadian wilderness:
And speaking of Canada, tomorrow Alex and I fly out to meet Marcus in Vancouver. We're very excited, particularly me, since it has become painfully obvious in the 7 days we've been apart that I'm unable to avoid traumatic experiences without him.
See you in Canada.
