A bedtime story.

In the center of the main room in my apartment lies my bed. I chose this strategic location so that I might feel any stray breeze from the ceiling fan above. I've already lamented that this fan is more than ten feet above my head, thus rather ineffective.

This detail is important to reiterate, because when I felt something brush against my shoulder at one in the morning, I knew it couldn't be an errant air current. 

I knew it had to be something else. 

Something alive. 

Something creepy. 

Something crawly. 

I jumped out of bed and flicked on the light. Sure enough, a creepy-crawly-cockroach was attempting to snuggle in beside me. 

I bashed his brains out with a book and ran to bring back toilet paper to properly dispose of him. 

When I came back, I noticed something amiss. HE WAS NOT DEAD! In fact, he flipped himself over and attempted escape. More bashing ensued. 

I threw him in the trash and threw the trash out the door. He was absolutely not going to pull another Evel Knievel on me (or would Houdini be a more appropriate reference?). Then I changed my sheets and determined that tomorrow, I really was absolutely without-a-doubt for sure going to do a royal cleaning of my apartment. 

I will now let you imagine a happily-ever-after ending. 

Goodnight, kids!