At War

I'm at war.

And I'm losing.

My kitchen hates me.


Just when I was beginning to get the hang of this whole cooking and washing dishes thing, my kitchen fought back. And it played dirty.

I have had numerous roach encounters in the past week. (No, we're not infested. It's rainy season!)
I know I rise in the wee morning hours, but can't a girl get a break when she's making breakfast at 5AM? What do I need to do, wave a white flag?!
Last week, I discovered a roach by the coffee maker. (I skipped the coffee and picked up Dunkin' after my run.) I knew I'd need fuel for my run, so I kept of good cheer and armed myself with a frying pan...to make eggs. When a second sighting occurred less than a foot from my frying pan, I surrendered. Needless to say, a breakfast of milk and nuts is not running-friendly.

Today was below the belt. A breach of the rules of war. Some sort of secret-intelligence mission. These guys take no prisoners. They are suicidal.

As I was opening the freezer to retrieve Brooklyn's breakfast, a commander roach leaped from atop the appliance and onto my person. Thankfully it wasn't quite accurate and hit only my foot. BUT IT HIT MY FOOT!

There may have been some a great deal of hysterics. But you should know that I did not let their schemes completely derail and demoralize me. I made coffee and breakfast. And I hit the keys and went along with normal life.

And I have begun plotting their demise. It will involve Tyler and a poison bomb. And I haven't the slightest twinge of conscience.