"Tess, come help me!"
Um, excuse me, father? I don't speak crazy.
I don't know what he expected, I mean really. Lets backtrack five minutes. I'm standing in the bathroom flossing my teeth (good dental hygiene, people!) when I hear, "Aha! There you are!" I look, and my father is standing up in the living room wielding a magazine for battle.
I immediately tense. Is it a spider? Must be a big one for that reaction. Could it be just a mosquito? I hope. That wouldn't be so bad. I approach slowly, solely out of curiosity. My father sights me.
"Tess, come hold on to me so I don't fall off the table!"
Since any initial implication of a creepy crawly, my thoughts have slowed. It takes me a moment to understand what he is saying. He wants my help? Here is my problem with that. Lets look at my history with bugs.
Girls Camp 2004. Tess sits on a top bunk innocently chattering with her fellow beehives when a bug FLIES IN HER FACE. She shrieks, flails, then bursts into tears.
Tess is about to start a steamy bath filling when she notices the giant beetle by the faucet. She pauses. With all her strength of mind, heart pounding, she calmly walks from the bathroom to the top of the stairs and yells, "HELP! DAD!" Dad comes to the rescue. He removes the bug, Tess takes her bath, only slightly traumatized.
Basement of the Lamb house, 2013. Greg looks at the wall for a moment before saying sweetly, "Why don't you go upstairs real quick and I'll be there in just a moment?" He takes off his shoe. I go upstairs. A moment later I hear two slams. He comes upstairs and assures me there weren't two of anything down there. In case you're wondering, that is yet another reason I love him.
But before you start thinking I'm totally hopeless...
Exhibit A of Bravery
Girls' night at the Lewis household, only four teenage girls and some pizza in the oven. A baby centipede finds its way into the kitchen. Shrieking ensues. "Someone get it!" Adrianne squeals. Tess realizes no one is going to man up, so she bravely takes a plastic cup and traps the baby centipede. Together, they all vacuum it.
Exhibit B of Bravery
In the kitchen of Fall 2012, roommate Chelsea announces she will clean the frog tank, but somebody needs to take the frog out. Devynne offers verbal support from the bathroom. Sure, no problem. Tess tries to relocate frog. Fails. Frog is on the cupboard. Screaming ensues. Frog falls on the kitchen floor. More screaming. Tess flees yelling, "I can't handle this!" Then she realizes neither Chelsea or Devynne plans to handle it either. She saves the frog.
What I'm getting at is that I don't do bugs or any other crawling slimy creature. Unless I have to. But I prefer not to.
But I do not not NOT do cockroaches.
Exhibit A of Cockroaches
Sometime in the 2000s. Mom and Tess are cleaning out an old shelf of books when they discover a nest of cockroaches about the size of a silver dollar. There are about twelve, and much MUCH screaming ensues (did I mention we were at the church?). Finally our female driver, laughing at us, takes a napkin and kills the cockroaches as they emerge.
So when my dad asked me to help him, I asked, "What is it?"
"It's a cockroach, I need to kill it."
That would be when the cockroach reemerged from hiding and he told me once again to come help him. Yeah. Right. I wasn't budging. I watched as he went after it. Then he lost sight of it.
Then I saw it.
I could SEE its intelligence. A creepy crawly with intelligence. I directed dad to it and then promptly left the room. Cockroaches are officially the creepiest smartest speediest bugs to roam the earth.
I. Do. Not. Appreciate. It.
Now excuse me, while I try to sleep at night knowing there are cockroaches in the house. Because where there's one, there's bound to be more. And no, my dad wasn't able to kill it. It's still out there, watching.