Monday, May 3, 2010


I was just sitting there. After a long, stressful day I was relaxing, eating my delicious cookie (the second one that I got for free, so it was even MORE delicious than a normal cookie), flipping through my New Yorker, and relishing in the fact that I was going to be crawling into my bed and passing out in a matter of minutes. And then he just walked right in, just strolled right by me like it was noooo big thing. He didn’t even think about the fact that he was, "disturbing my peace" (as my neighbor Yolanda likes to yell out the window as she disturbs the entire city of New York’s peace, mind you). He walked right in front of me, didn’t say hello, didn’t acknowledge my existence, didn’t apologize for ruining my one moment of quiet in the entire day, and parked it. He stood there inches from me and just stopped.

I. Was. Horrified.

I looked at him and said, “You know buddy, you’ve got A LOT of nerve...” and I gave him the stink eye.

No response.

Ummm, P’squeeze me! You have a lot of nerve coming up this close to me without being freaked out! I am exhausted and not in the mood to deal with this and it is just like a man for you to come in and ruin my moment and take up space and ignore me with your tough exterior! I am so over this! Can’t you see I am eating here? I am so over you being everywhere and nowhere at once! You are always following me and you always show up at the most inopportune moments like when I’m eating! Or taking a shower! Why can’t you show up when I AM GONE! Oh, wait, you probably do that, too!"

Yeah, I told him. I told him real good.

But again, he said nothing and just sat there like he was on a lounge chair or the toilet.

“YOU ARE A COWARD!” I yelled as I grabbed a napkin and brought my fist down onto the counter.

I missed.

I tried one more time, chasing him down the hallway, and missed again.

I gave up. I walked back into the kitchen, feeling like a disgruntled loser for blowing my top and having bad slamming aim. I finished my cookie.

Next time I am not going to use my words or my fists. Next time, I am just going to get out the spray.

Mr. Cockroach, your days are numbered.

No comments: