The Spawn of Satan

I'll never forget the day my brother let me down. The only day he ever did, really. He always killed the roaches in my bedroom, see. I know he didn't LIKE to; I could tell by the graceful, agile tiptoe dance he would do as he chased it down, but I was too desperate and too grateful to risk losing his help by the crime of inappropriate giggling. But all that changed one day. One heartbreaking day of growth. He was a senior in high school and I was but a lowly freshman, and he had college plans fresh in his mind. Once the offending roach was discovered, I did the usual routine, which consisted of first finding myself standing on the dresser or hanging from the light fixture, and then gathering my wits about me enough to call him in while keeping a dartful eye on the enemy. He came as usual, but there was a new air about him. An aura of impending independence, and the new idea that his own independence would mean that I would need to grow up. Today. So he told me gently but firmly that I would need to kill this roach on my own, since he would be leaving soon. As practice. I was sure I had heard wrong and stared at him aghast and almost lost sight of the creature, but after pleading in vain with tear-filled eyes, I calmed my racing heart and decided it was either obedience or go to bed with the fear of a silent visitor in my bed. So with his brotherly eye watching over me, I killed my own very first roach. I loathe roaches. I loathe few things, see. Abortion I loathe. People who key brand new cars in parking lots I loathe. And roaches I loathe. I can now say that although at the time I felt like he meant it for evil, God meant it for good. Why? Because my apartment is roach-infested, and I have been cursed with a roommate who feigns the inability, just absolute inability, to kill a roach. We have tried much: keeping the apartment spotless, keeping the lights on all night, you name it, pesticide after pesticide. Nothing. The little spawns of Satan are getting bolder, deciding they can just pop their heads out in broad daylight. I don't think it's any coincidence that they look like the crawly version of a demon, do you? They didn't even have the decency to be afraid of us! Well, they are getting more fearful, let me tell you. I am becoming quite adept, killing between 2-3, sometimes 4, in a 24 hour period. One even flew and I still got to it. Sometimes if it's a particularly squashy death I leave it out for a while so that its roachy friends and family can smell the chemicals I'm sure are being given off as a warning to stay far, far away. I still struggle with my attitude about the whole situation though. I have different tactics here too. Sometimes I pretend that me and the roach are friends so that I can keep an upbeat tone as I kill them: "Now, Mr. Roach Pants, I'm sorry I have to do this but you should have listened to your mother and not strayed from the ceiling." But then I found that whenever my real life human friends ticked me off I began to automatically approach them threateningly with a paper towel or a book out of habit, so I decided that I should discard the friendly approach. Then I tried being indifferent, acting as though I am very tough and normalized to killing roaches and it actually bores me. That's simply such a strong lie that no part of my mind can accept it. And finally, I've tried to distract myself as I kill them with study material: "Hepatitis B is the only DNA Hepatitis virus and encodes its own reverse transcriptase material, although scientists are still unsure as to the evolutionary benefit." But this does not help either, because then I just begin to wonder how I could come up with a Hepatitis Roach Shot that could wipe out all non-immune roaches on the face of the planet and save the world, one low socio-economic apartment at a time. So I don't think my attitude will change. Through this I've come to realize that I firmly believe now that Satan's greatest real deterrant in keeping single women from the mission field is insects. I've found myself questioning Africa lately, because somehow I feel very sure that I will face more nightmarish crawling creatures there than I could even care to imagine right now. My new prayer is to marry a brave killer by the time I leave for the mission field or else I anticipate God putting me through the most intense spiritual warfare I will have ever faced. I wish sometimes that God didn't really find it necessary to be QUITE so creative during that first week of creation. Maybe He should have taken two days off instead of one....I guess He knows best (but I'm really just saying that because I feel like it's the Christian thing to say).