So Saturday night Derek went out with some friends and Riley and I were on our own. After he was tucked away in his crib snoring sweet little baby snores, I retired to the couch to watch the Proposal (Oh, romantic comedies, why must you be so stupidly predictable?). I walked into the kitchen, stopped dead in my tracks and squealed.

A giant centipede was running right for me! I have mentioned my utter abhoration for centipedes before. They are the one thing I Just. Can’t. Handle.

And this was a big one. I knew I couldn’t just pretend I didn’t see it. So I made a snap decision. I was not getting close enough to hit it with a shoe, so I ran to the closet and grabbed a broom. This is why we don’t only have Swiffer Sweepers in our house. Sometimes you need an old school, granny sweeping off a porch type of broom.

I ran back to the kitchen, closed my eyes and whacked. And you guys, it was horrible. Horrible!

Legs flew off in every direction. Some liquid something squirted out. And the thing kept running! AAHHH!! I’m literally getting the heebies and the jeebies just thinking about it!

I whacked it one more time and it stopped moving. Victory.

But then I froze. How the hell am I going to pick this thing up? I wondered. I called Derek. He didn’t answer. I texted him and waited for him to call me back.

Finally, he called and I explained what had happened. I had cheated death at the many hands of a centipede. I figured he’d rush right home to comfort me.

“This is why you called me?” he asked, incredulous.

“YES,” I didn’t understand what he was getting at.

“Just get a paper towel and clean it up,” he said.

A paper towel??”

“Fine, a wad of paper towels.”

“I’m not getting near that thing. Juice squirted out of it and there are legs all over the kitchen floor,” I said.

“You can do it, just scoop it up in some paper towels,” said my reasonable husband.

“I’ll take care of it, ok?” I said.

When we hung up, I knew exactly what I’d do. I walked to the kitchen and got out a paper plate. I approached the carcass. Closing my eyes, I tossed the plate. I opened my eyes and it was covering the death in my kitchen. Perfect!

I wrote a note and left it on the counter.


I took care of the centipede.

You’re welcome,



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