Centipede Stampede

The other night, the unimaginable happened....

...there was a giant (well, aren't they all?) centipede on the garage wall, right above the door I had to go through.

Now, most of you are thinking, "so what?" But, those of you who REALLY know me know that I have a ridiculous aversion (phobia, actually) of centipedes. So much so that I have actually gone to therapy for it (which involved me keeping a centipede on my desk in a jar, but that's a story for a different day). Don't ask how this developed....my mother thinks it is from when I was 18 months old and she was beating the tar out of a centipede on the wall next to my play pen (remember play pens? do they still have those?). All I know is that it's been a life long thing and those buggers scare the poo out of me, so much that I literally couldn't function. Well, now that I've had that therapy, I can function--just not very well. It took everything in me to find that photo on the Internet & then post it on this blog. I think I was hyperventilating while trying to do it. (Thanks for nothing to "What's that Bug?" website & to Lisa's photo of the dreaded monster.)

I was stunned, terrified and pissed off all at the same time. See, this is the FIRST and ONLY time I have ever seen a centipede anywhere even near this house. As a matter of fact, one of my favorite things about being in a new home (albeit now 12. 5 years) is that there are very seldom centipedes milling about. How dare the house's centipede virginity be lost after all this time.

This was my sacred centipede-free space, violated!

And, could it be a little centipede? NO. It was a gigantic son-of-a-biscuit, the size of my car. Okay, so maybe it was only about three inches in length, but that is a big bug, don't you think? And, all those long legs and mile-long antenna-thingies. UGH! I'm having a flashback!

Since I have had centipede therapy, I knew that it would be I that had to kill the sucker. Not that I wanted to. Not that I thought I could do it without throwing up and then screaming into the night. But, it had to be done. I had the wife come back and look at it, just to make sure someone knew of my bravery was noted. As I couldn't reach it (thank god!), I decided I would have to first drown it in bug spray, then use paper towels to squish the thing after it fell to the ground.

Sounds so simple, doesn't it?

Well, that damned thing had other ideas. First spray: RUNNING! RUNNING! RUNNING! (The centipede, not me, although I was indeed thinking about running.) Those puppies can run so fast, all those little legs whirling in perfect rhythm. I PELTED that thing with bug spray. I mean, the thing was covered with a white flood of spray and it kept on moving. I sprayed, it ran. I sprayed more, it ran more--across the wall. DIE! DIE! DIE! I started yelling at it as I sprayed. The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up, but I kept spraying. It was completely white with froth but it wasn't wilting and it wasn't slowing down. I couldn't take my eyes off it (lest it escape & then I not be able to sleep, knowing that ass was in my house somewhere), but I really wanted to look at the can of bug spray to make sure it WAS bug spray. Just as I was ready to give up and go screaming into the night, it fell off the wall and onto the cement floor.

ICK ICK ICK ICK!

But, at least it was now on the floor. I peered over the railing and took a peek.....

...Yup, there it was, squirming in all its glory.

It wasn't running any more and it was starting to curl up. Good and bad news, I suppose. I knew I'd have to take my eyes off it for a second or two to go get the paper towel roll. I'm telling ya, I wasn't gone for more than 2.33 seconds. I took about fifty paper towel squares, piled them up and got ready to make my move. I had to plan because the bug-sprayed centipede was not strategically placed where I could easily squish it--it was kind of near the stair and it was in a position that I might actually miss when I put the paper towels on top of it.

It was time to make my move. I gave out a war cry (you think I'm kidding?), threw myself down the stairs, dropped the 50-squares of paper towels on top of it and STOMPED THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

I kept stomping like there was no tomorrow. I stomped til I could stomp no more.
Once I stopped stomping, I realized I could NOT pick the paper towels up. I really wanted to, but it was too much. I stepped back and felt failure coming. I....could..... not....pick.....it.....up. (Damn all that money in therapy.) I stepped over the thing and went in the house, admitting my defeat to the wife.

I left that thing there all night. The wife picked up the wad of paper towels in the morning. She's my hero.

I've had many centipede encounters. Maybe you don't understand this as you haven't had many centipedes crawl into your life. I've had one fall into the sink while I was washing the dishes, I've had one on my left forearm (UGH!) while moving some boxes in college, I actually had one running up my right leg while I was peeing on the toilet. I've had the pleasure of putting my glasses on after a shower and seeing that I had been "swimming" with one the whole time. I've had one literally fall from the ceiling (at work) and miss falling on my head by millimeters...

Our previous apartment (we lived there for ten terrifying years) was rampant with the things. I'm not kidding--I was always screaming for the wife's help. I mean, I can see those things a mile away. I see them waving at me, sticking their tongues out. There was even one in our bed once at that apartment, but the wife tried desperately not to let me know. There are just things I know, so I knew. The wife was my savior--she was always killing those things for me. She knew when I had found one--I'd be cowering in the corner (the corner furtherest from the dreaded bug), making whimpering sounds. She'd come walking in and say, "Where is it?" My hero, indeed!

Once, there was one so big on the wall I thought I was going to pass out. The wife wasn't home, so I called my mother....who lived in Texas and I was in Illinois. I don't know what I thought she could do to help me, but it seemed the thing to do.

I have had hundreds of dreams involving centipedes. Perhaps I should refer to them as nightmares. Centipedes and tornadoes. Go figure.

Since seeing the one lone centipede in the garage, I am now convinced they are hiding all over our house. This makes me very nervous. Last night, while cleaning the basement, the wife said to me, "I thought you were cured of this."

Obviously, I am not.

However, I can now function and can semi-kill a centipede. I wasn't able to function before--the true meaning of a phobia. (How many people do you know who have had centipede therapy?) But, I still don't like the things (not that anyone does, I suppose). I still worry that there are more in the house. I still worry that one will be crawling up my leg while I'm peeing (let me tell you, you NEVER forget something like that). I put a hat and hood on before going to clean the basement (lest one fall on my head and get stuck in my hair). I still jump when I see something move out of the corner of my eye....

...I'm sure there is some psychological significance to my phobia--probably Freudian--but, I am in no real mood to figure it out. I've had enough education to know it is not exactly a common phobia (besides spiders--oh, dear, a lot of people are terrified of spiders). I just want to keep the things out of my life.

I've decided to adopt the "it-was-a-lone-orphan-centipede-coming-in-from-
the-cold-and-got-lost-on-its-way-home-not-in-my-home" mentality. I'll be fine unless I see one actually IN the house.....

......then, I am going to have to go back to therapy and pay the wife thousands of dollars to keep me safe......