Okay, I’ve just got a couple minutes so I have to make this fast.
I’m still going to do a series of gigantic update posts to bring you all up to date on what’s been going on garden-wise around here, but I’ve still got other fires to put out first.
My wife and I have successfully moved but we’re still up to our ears in boxes. Fire number 1.
Whoever lived here before us was apparently some kind of mad scientist who felt it was unreasonable to force the humble cockroach to wait for nuclear war to inherit the Earth. I’m not sure how, I’m not sure why, but this tenant clearly was performing some kind of mutagenic research and bred an unimaginably large colony of super-roaches. I swatted one on a door with a flat-bottomed house slipper and it ran away.
Let me make this clear. I did not miss. I distinctly heard the cockroach crunch and I struck it hard enough that the neighbors undoubtedly heard the noise. It… did… not… die.
This is Fire number 2, and arguably the largest blaze of them all.
We need to unpack but it’s tough to get motivated to open a box when every time you do you’re greeted by roaches. These things are living in a gas stove for crying out loud. Try not losing your appetite when as soon as you start cooking they come out of the burners to see what’s for dinner.
On the upside, they don’t seem interested in my plants.
Guess there’s always a silver lining.
We’ve decided to employ dueling exterminators. A competition, if you will, to see if they can prove that their methods were what actually destroyed this super-colony.
There’s other smaller fires as well, but it seems silly to mention them in the same company as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Roaches.
I refuse to lose. If necessary, I’ll burn down the building to prevent this horror from being unleashed upon the world. Fighting metaphorical fire with actual fire. You’ve got to admit there’s a certain symmetry, a certain poetic justice there.