A great use for a shoe

This past weekend, DH and I were staying at my parents' house.  On Friday evening, DH - having had his shower - was lounging in bed reading in the guest room while I was taking a shower in the adjacent bathroom in the hallway.

I was done with my shower and brushing out my wet hair when I saw in the mirror crawling down the wall behind me a roach the size of a battleship semi-truck bathtub small dog loaf of bread, well, it was darn big.  I let out a yell, grabbed my towel off the rack, donned it, and ran out of the bathroom hollering for the first roach-killing man I could find.  As I had run into the family room instead of the bedroom, the man was my dad.  Dad is used to females with bug phobias as my mom hates them, too, and he raised me.  

I spluttered and gestured and described the size of the roach while keeping the towel about my naked self and not embarrassing myself or my dad.  Dad listened and said those famous words, "Let me go get a shoe."  He retrieved a shoe, then went into the bathroom and hunted down the offending insect and whacked it flat and dead, then gave it a burial at sea (he flushed it).  My hero!

During the search, DH came out of the bedroom and watched my dad seek out and kill the roach.  He said, "I heard her 'bug yell' but since you're here with the shoe, I'll let you do the honors.  It's nice to have time off from bug killing duty."  (DH married me for better, for worse, and for killing all bugs.)

Lest you think my parents live in a roach-infested house, they don't.  This was one of those huge outdoor brown roaches that sometimes sneak inside the house to quickly die by shoe.  Luckily they don't come in too often.  

And no, there's no picture.  You wouldn't really want to look at a picture of a roach would you?  Especially of a whacked dead roach?  Which would be the only way I'd get near enough to one to take its picture!  Yeah, that's what I thought.

LoneStar