You may run the risks, but I do the cutting.

I don't know and I know care what the accurate etymology is for these f***ing bullroaches we have in Baton Rouge. They are enormous and they are fearless and I am scared shitless of them. I don't have a long list of things that terrify me, although the list grows the older I get and expanded quickly when I became the sole legal guardian of Jake and Landen Allbritton.

A couple nights ago I was peacefully unaware of Murphy while I was watching my shows, which meant he was asleep somewhere or occupied wreaking havoc in some other room of the house for which I would later be sorry for not paying closer attention to him. When I excused us into the bedroom to get ready for bed, I caught Murphy chase One of Them under the closed bathroom door. My heart froze. My husband is terrified of spiders, but a roach ain't nothin' but a thang, and he'll creep on one, smack it and flush it before I've had time to squeal in terror and flail my arms about, which is my standard response to one of their visits.

Obviously I was going to have to man up and get that roach, else it could get into my bed or Murphy's bed during the night.

"Stay here," I said to Murphy. He sat.

I retrieved a sandal from the closet and a bundle of paper towels from the kitchen and took a deep breath before slowly opening the bathroom door. Cue the theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

I scanned the floor and the walls, shook out the bathmats and the shower curtains, rattled the basket where I keep all my hair supplies, inspected the area around the toilet and the sink. Nothing. I exited the room, but left the light on and the door open, thinking that if It tried to escape the bathroom, Murphy would resume his pursuit of the terrorist.

Not twenty minutes later, I found myself needing to use the facilities. "Shit" was the appropriate sentiment for it's multiple applications to this particular pickle I found myself in. I could've gone upstairs, but I refused to be exiled in fear from my own facilities. Not 4% into the mission, I saw It, antennae first, crawling out of the basket in which I keep my hairdryer, various appliances and hair products. I had entered the bathroom without my weaponry, and was now in a most vulnerable battle position: pantsless.

Nevertheless, I lept into action. I grabbed enough toilet paper to comfortably coat both hands and pounced on the bastard, feeling the crunch of it in my toilet paper as I screamed, without breathing, from sitting to standing to flushing. My heart was still pounding as I sat again.

I should mention here how completely useless Murphy the Hunter was during this whole calamity. Aside from chasing it into the bathroom in the first GD place, he remained unengaged as the altercation unfolded. He was standing in the bathroom door when It reappeared. I'm fairly certain It caught our attention at the same time, but whereas I needed to, by the very definition of Head of Household, kill the f***er, Murphy identified his only contribution as pointing at it, and checking to make sure that I was aware of my responsibilities in this situation. Once I crunched it in my toilet paper, then and only then did he see fit to bark at It.