The other night Jack and I were getting ready for bed, when suddenly Jack said, "What was that!? Something's flying!" I looked and found what was flying, and said, "Yeah, it's a big horking roach, and it's going into your closet."

It wasn't actually in his closet yet, but it had landed just above it, right near the ceiling. Since neither of us had any intention of actually going to sleep in that room with a Big Horking Roach wandering around, the conversation then turned to how to dispose of it.

"I'll get some roach spray from downstairs," I said, being all logical and stuff. After a brief argument where Jack insisted that we didn't have any roach spray, I finally told him I would go check and see if we had any roach spray. So, I went downstairs, retrieved the roach spray from where I knew it was, and then retured upstairs. The BHR was still happily perched above the closet, eyeing us with a gleam of amusement in its beady eyes.

"Okay," I said, "here's the plan. I'll spray it, and then flee screaming, and then you kill it while it's stunned from the spray."

There was a brief discussion then where I was forced to explain to Jack that he was the one who had to kill the roach because he had the testicles, and since God had failed to give me testicles I was obviously not destined to kill roaches.

My part of the plan when pretty well. I crept up toward the closet, sprayed the roach, shrieked in terror as it took off flying, and then ran to the other side of the room screaming nice calm encouragement in the form of, "KILL IT! KILL IT! KILL IT!"

Jack's part of the plan actually went better than I'd expected. The roach flew, but then landed on the bathroom door, where Jack used his Maxim magazine to smack the living crap out of it, sending it flying across the bathroom to land next to a pile of dirty towels. It was very good that it didn't land in the pile of dirty towels, because Jack then very bravely stomped and smashed it about sixteen more times just to be sure it was all the way dead. I wanted him to kill it some more after that, but we finally decided it was dead enough.

Normally that would be the end of the saga of the BHR, except that Jack and I got into a debate as to whose contribution was more critical in the killing of the BHR. I claimed that he never would have been able to smack the roach if I had not sprayed it, thus stunning and disorienting it. His reply? "Do you actually think a single molecule of that spray landed on that thing? It was stunned because it was laughing so hard at you!"

Next roach, he's on his own. I'll sleep with the baby.