Good Morning Mr. Centipede

I have just spent two nights in a row in my apartment. How fabulous! The walls of my room are still bare and psychiatric ward-like, but I’m ignoring that. The sole source of color is a Tiffany lamp that my parents bought for me for $30 at an antique shop in Connecticut. I love it so.

This morning, as I was taking in the bare walls, I noticed a hole. A big hole….a hole with…legs…a hole with hundreds of little, creepy legs.

Hello. How did you sleep?

 

Welcome to living in your own apartment…. Dad? Where are you? Please just do something to get rid of this pest. I don’t want to deal with this. Thank you.
Luckily, my bug-hunting boyfriend (who first unsuccessfully aimed to squish the centipede, missed by a centimeter, causing the bug to land almost on the center of my bed) did finally rid my room of the thing. He then found a wonderful website, which has decided for us what we’re going to do today. Home Depot for a dehumidifier and maybe some pest repellent. Blegh blegh blegh.
We also happen to need a curtain for the kitchen to keep out another quiet interloper — neighbor Joe — a kind older gentleman with a penchant for watching what we cook. He, thankfully, has less legs than a centipede.
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