There I was, drowning my sorrows with High School Musical-- hey, at least I'm being honest, all right? I really didn't think it could be as bad as everyone said it was-- and folding laundry.
Now I knew that I wouldn't be able to postpone going in there forever. At some point before going to bed I would have to open the garage door, turn on the light, and make my way to the dryer to retrieve a clean sheet for my eldest son's bed. I knew I would have to do it; it was just a matter of when. Just a matter of working up a little positive energy and self-control.
You might not believe this, but right at the moment when Zac Efron is walking away from the indignant what's-her-name's house after a failed attempt at reconciliation, I decided to pause the movie. I mean, this was about self-control, after all. I put some laundry away in various parts of the house.
And then it was time. No excuses left.
What's the big deal? you might be asking. So go in the garage already, pansy-cakes. I mean, not only do you have a strong, handsome husband to accompany you should you so choose, but what could possibly be so scary about your garage at 11:45 p.m. when for the last hour your house has been full of Ashley Tisdale's sing-song, slightly nasal voice and lots of dancing basketball players?
But first of all, you would be wrong in assuming that I have a strong, handsome husband to accompany me. Sure, he's strong and handsome, but he also happens to be away at a conference in Boston at the moment, so I am fending for myself (again, not that I'm complaining or anything)(oh, and did you really think I'd be desperate enough to watch High School Musicalif Josh were here?).
Second, why does the thought of entering the garage, specifically at night, strike fear into my very bones? Well, it's as simple as this:
There are cockroaches in the garage.
Now, if you know me, you just took it for granted that I was hyperventilating as I typed that word above. No, not "garage"; the other one.
Yes, Josh met a few (and by a few, I mean he killed six of them, and a few more got away) cockroaches (that word again!) in the garage the other night and I have been paralyzed with fear ever since. And our landlord hasn't replied about pest control yet so things are not in my hands at the moment.
So I opened the door a crack, stuck my hand in to switch on the light, then quickly shut it again. Then, after giving things a moment to clear up so to speak and all that and so forth, I peeked gingerly through the garage door window.
The coast was clear. Only bright light, the minivan, and a clear path to the dryer in my view.
I focused on my goal. A few more seconds and a deep breath, and then I sprinted for it. I opened the dryer, trying to stay calm, grabbed that overrated piece of blue cotton (why do kids need sheets anyway? they're just going to pee on them over and over and over again) and shut the dryer.
So far so good, so by this point, I was starting to gain a little confidence. Co-- okay I just can't type that word again right now. Let's just say I hadn't seen anything, and let's be honest, sometimes I get all worked up over nothing. The garage is a clean place, we are clean people, Josh must have killed them all, we've started putting dirty diapers in the outside trash instead of in the garage... I looked back up at the door, ready to reenter the house in triumph and that is when I saw it.
A giant blackthing on the door frame, right next to the open garage door.
It was just sitting there, motionless. Waiting. Waiting for me. I was trapped.
I screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
Nobody heard me.
Time stood still. I would just have to spend the rest of forever frozen in front of the dryer with a sheet in my hands, my children starving in the distant house without me...
But wait! The door was open! That thing was an inch away from BEING INSIDE MY HOUSE!
I had to get in before it did.
Gametime decision. It was now or never.
I'm pretty sure Usain Bolt should hand over yesterday's gold medal to me. I am positively convinced that I broke the world record for sheer inhuman speed as I dashed across the garage and up the three stairs, past that disgusting thing and into the house before slamming the door. And locking it.
Take that, cockroach.
That is, until I have to go into the garage again.
No, but seriously guys, I might die. If I never blog again, you'll know why.