No more visitors, thanks.

Let's talk about insects for a moment. Now, I consider myself a pretty rational person. Even when upset, I can usually see two sides of a story. I can even comprehend how someone could have voted for McCain in the last election (although, under no circumstances can I wrap my head around why anyone could have been gung-ho for Palin).

Still, my rational responses come to a screeching halt at the sight of an insect. Maybe I don't hop on furniture, but spotting one sends me screeching and running towards the nearest exit. Cockroaches, as it turns out, scare me the most.

A few days ago, I met Mildred. Here I was, innocently enjoying my Tuesday evening, lounging on my couch eating sushi and watching Arrested Development for the billionth time (I literally heard my DVD sigh as I put the disc in). Mildred interrupted tranquility and scuttled toward the TV, causing me to absolutely panic. PANIC. IRRATIONAL, UNINTENTIONAL PANIC.

I think I named her to help diffuse the fear. Oh, Mildred- lost again, are we? You belong outdoors! That Mildred - always getting into shenanigans. The desensitization process, however, didn't work. It still ended with the same result: me making ill attempts to end things, growing discouraged, and heading to bed early to let Mildred have her space. Now I consider myself a pretty feminist-minded being, but I would give anything to have someone else deal (read: male) with my unwanted house guest.

Tonight, I finally brought out the big guns. Perhaps it's too preemptive to claim Raid my Joie de Vivre, but I need it (and the extra bait I bought) to work so badly, that I'm hoping this entry will put the positive/lethal vibes out in the universe and will it so.

Rest in Peace, Mildred... please?