There's an entrance to hell in our laundry room.
You might think that I mean that our laundry room is the entrance to hell, and while it might be a housewife's hell, it's really just the coatcheck on the way to the entrance to hell.
I was going along my merry way the other day when I realized that the air in the hallway there had a certain pungent bite to it. It sort of gently scraped at my nostrils as it went down. Ooooh, I thought. I'd forgotten to throw away the poopies bag from walking the dog earlier in the day--it was still hanging from the stroller right there. I tossed it, but there was no relief.
I also noticed that there were little bitty fruit fly type guys hanging out around the house. They've visited before. This time they'd infiltrated all the way to the upstairs bathroom, just one or two. They are small and delicate and pathetically slow.
The smell grew, as did the flies. I did some laundry, and finally it clicked. The evil drain of doom. We have these drains in our bathrooms and laundry room (don't know why) that lack P-traps (don't know why) and so every once in a while they start smelling like sewage warmed over (don't know why). Finally tonight I grabbed a bucket of water to flush hell's guts back down into it, which has worked in the past. I pushed the laundry room door open farther than I usually dare to and moved some hampers out of the way. There were flies all over the wall behind the door, clearly emanating from the drain. They were Satan's messengers, harbingers of doom, reminders of stench and death and of things that eat stench and death and of sin. (Whose sin? Well, obviously the sin of the people who invented these drain things.) There was a smell and an infestation.
I began to pour the water, annoyed at it splashing every which way and onto the pants of mine that the Maltese of Sin peed on and the probably-bedbug-infested stuff from the PF's latest trip. Oh great, more cleanup. Then, in the drain, I saw flailing legs and a horrible exoskeletal body, but it was of such size that I knew I was safe--there was no way that it could fit through the holes in the drain cover. No way! Then, with no warning, it emerged and scuttled behind the door.
I shrieked like a little girl. The husband and his friend, Mr. Yabber (both in their uniforms, which added to the urgency-feeling of the situation) came ... well, they didn't come running, but they came. (That's quiet professionalism for you.) "Cockroach. Behind the door," I sputtered. Pater Familias: "Can you get me some paper towels?" Me: "This is a BOOT-SIZE COCKROACH. Not paper towels." Pater Familias: "I always miss." I wish I could say that he was lowballing, but it's true, his aim is not too reliable when it comes to these situations. The guys finally rustled him out and agreed that he was, in fact, boot-sized. The PF clobbered him and--you feeble-stomached might want to look away--his pale guts squelched out of him. He was flat. I was safe.
We were gloating over our victory and my husband's rare aim when the cockroach began to crawl again. The thing was flat. But it was like the upper half of a zombie torso where the legs have been eaten off by other zombies but it is still gonna come after you. Tentacles waved wildly and I jumped away, shrieking again. "We've got a limper!" said Mr. Yabber. There was more proxy-stomping by the PF's hand-in-shoe, who then waxed philosophical: "What are cockroach guts, anyway? Just nothing?" Apparently they're not too key to their immediately life force, anyway.
Stench. Flies. Evil creatures. I feel the latest Japanese horror flick coming on.*
*Those things are no joke. Don't watch them.
(You might be wondering what the point of this post is--I mean, I go so long with nothing but a few lame photography posts, and this is what I come up with? Well, I'd just like to take this opportunity to point out that you're the one that read this far!)