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.
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| 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.
I'm going to let you in now, okay? 