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There's been a dead cockroach lying next to the printer in my office for three days. I've been ignoring it, in the hopes that George would take care of it.

Isn't that the whole point of being married – that you have someone around to deal with cockroaches and other oogy creepy crawlies? I go through labor (or scheduled c-sections, as the case may be), and he handles the disposal of rodents, bugs and snakes.

And I really don't like cockroaches. They have this disgusting habit of pretending to be dead, right up until you go to sweep them into the dust pan, at which point they suddenly flip over and run at you.

But today, I reached my gross out limit. A dead cockroach is disgusting enough. A dead decomposing cockroach is just that much worse. So I bucked up my courage, and picked the damn bug up myself, using five kleenexes wadded together to make sure that no part of my skin came into contact with the roach.

Does this mean that if and when George and I have another baby, he has to go through labor?

I thought not.

Posted 03 August 2006 at 03:45 PM