This:
(OH SWEET MOTHER OF GOD)
Is a Silverfish.
A Silverfish, by the first website I googled (Wikipedia, w00t), "are small, wingless insects in the order Thysanura. Its common name derives from the animal's silvery light grey and blue colour, combined with the fish-like appearance of its movements, while the scientific name indicates the silverfish's diet of carbohydrates such as sugar or starches." Oh wonderful.
Let me share a little story to you about why I hate Silverfish and why they should die a terrible horrible death (preferably by Cat or plunger).
When I was a Kid, I was freaking adorable. Let me show you.
(Yup, nothing has changed... besides that ROCKING MULLET.)
Yeah, freaking adorable, right? Well at this age, I was a freaking nerd. Not like I'm one now or anything. But when I was a kid I loved science and space and animals and practically anything that had to do with nature. I spent most of my days in giant books that my parents got me about sea mammals and these small binders that you could get monthly pages about different animals and where they were from. Now you have to understand, my parents ran their own business. In which they would buy estate sales or warehouses or auctions and then resell them at flea markets or on eBay. My Mom once sold a 8track player to the props lady for That 70's Show. Every time we saw it we would just laugh.
(IT'S THERE & YOU KNOW IT. I'M NOT A LIAR :|)
When I was a kid most of my presents or toys were things they would fine in warehouses in boxes full of action figures and that sort of thing. So most of the books I got (including that little binder full of animal information) were from those sort of deals. Toys kids had forgotten about, that I was now allowed to amuse myself with forever and always.
Don't get me wrong, my parent's did just give me broken power rangers and books that were missing pages. I was an only child growing up, so I was spoiled all to hell. But I also got my pick of the toys that my parents couldn't sell. Hooray! Like this little number:
(Hell to the yeah, Bruno! I used to drag this thing around for hours.)
I don't want to pretend that I was the master of Animals as a kid. I couldn't point to a Dog and tell you it's scientific name, or tell you what kind of diet a cricket should be on, but I knew a decent amount of common animals. Not to mention my Grandma had a FARM. Okay. It wasn't really a farm. She has like 2 acres of land and she had a lot of sterotypical barn yard animals. Like a Horse, cats, dogs, turkeys, chickens, a Pig named Oprah and a Goat named Tina Turner. I kid you not.
(baaaaah)
So I was pretty knowledgeable on animals growing up. I would see things and know what it was. I even know a lot about things I had never seen before. Hell I loved the zoo! I even knew about those kind of animals. But I was never really into bugs. Bugs freaked me out. I think its because of how freaky they look. Most people would agree, but there are plenty of people (like my boyfriend) who would disagree. Bugs are just...weird. They stare at you with their one thousand eyes and their extra limbs. Looking at you like, "What. You wanna mess with me? I will bite you with my VENOM" Yeah, poison. Why do little things like that get so much of it. I wish I had venom, bite the next person that cuts in front of my at the grocery store.
So I was a dork, none the less, and I spent a good amount of my time reading about animals...but mostly I played video games. But that is beside the point. So lets move onto the Bathroom, where this incident takes places.
When I was about eight years old, I flushed a chocolate bunny down the toilet. Yes, an entire chocolate bunny. It was a dare by my childhood friend Clifford (who is now a pot head that goes by the name 'Cliff'). I had received the present from my neighbors, an awesome elderly couple who was called Mrs. Perry and Mr. Appletree (because he told us he was Johnny Appleseed...and we believed him...because we were eight...), for Easter one year. I was never really into candy as a child. I was weird. I would have much rather had a giant pile of fruit and veggies then a lot of chocolate and sugar. I don't know why. When I got older my parents stopped buying my candy for holidays and juts gave me some Reeses and Pringals. I'm a freak, but for some reason, this giant glorious beast of a chocolate did not appeal to me in the least.
(Why you hate me D8)
When I mentioned to him that I didn't want to eat said brick of holiday deliciousness, he dared me to flush it down the John. So, because I was a timid child who was easily peer pressured into situations, I did it. But first, because I was an intelligent peer pressured child, I realized that this rather large rabbit was not going to go down easily. So I ripped him up, piece by piece, and flushed him away. Clearly, if my poop was this size, the bunny would go away easily. And I didn't have to be embarrassed about not eating this lovely gift from my neighbors.
So flush by flush, the bunny went away. Until finally, we got to the last piece, his rather large bunny feet. And in the last moment of idiotic empowerment, I assumed "Yeah, this will totally all go down." and it didn't. And the toilet, angry with his bowels full of masticated chocolate bunny, spilled out its water in a fit of fury, rage, and indigestion. Luckily, it did not over flow. It simply reached the brim of the toilet and sat there. Staring at us.
At eight years old, I had yet to produce the poo that would be considered 'unflushable'. I had never had to use a plunger before, sure I had flushed too much toliet paper before, and simply bellowed for my parents. But I couldn't here. Not now! Not when the evidence of my Bunny MURDER was causing this. I didn't even know how the damn plunger even worked. So we shut the lid and left the bathroom. I was too scared to tell my parents. Because at that moment I realized what a dumb idea it was. I had already been yelled at in the past for flushing a piece of string down the toilet, the spool on my fingers, watching it unravel with every flush. I didn't know what kinds of things people did in bathrooms, but I always knew that spending too much time in the bathroom or doing something on the toilet was a BAD thing. Television told me that, "Little Johnny's been spending TOO MUCH TIME IN THE BATHROOM *wink wink nudge nudge*." Clearly if we spent too much time in here, we would get in trouble. I assumed that maybe I had angered some toilet God that was going to punish me, via my Mother. I had no clue what would happen to me. I was a naive little kid.
So I abandoned the upstairs bathroom. I stopped taking baths in my bathroom and announced that I was now old enough to shower! My parents were so proud! So I started to use their shower. Pretending to be completely oblivious that my bathtub also came with a shower.
My parents bathroom seemed to be magical. My Mom was not a 'fancy lady' not by any means. She had perfume and make up and fancy shampoos and soaps (by my standards, now a days I realize how cheap my parents really were). So when I took showers it was kind of a magical experience. They had loofahs and brush on long sticks for your backs. Magic stones that made your feet soft, scrubbers for your arms that ex-foliated your skin. I had at least 5 different shampoos to choose from, and three different conditioners. Body wash a plenty and all the different soaps I could dream of! Not to mention my Mom rarely used those 'last minute bath box' Christmas gifts. So I always used whatever fancy products came in there. Not to mention she had a luscious green shower curtain with tassels and it felt like a cave, free from the dangers of the world outside.
(Doesn't that just LOOK amazing???)
This went on for a fairly long time. I would say at least two years, maybe more. My memory isn't very good. Anyway, my Mom started to work a little bit more out of our house, using the computer and our AWESOME AOL 6.0. Usually she only spent a good hour or two upstairs working, and then went back downstairs to do other things. So she never used my bathroom. My SUPER SECRET DARK SECRET was still a secret. I never used my bathroom, ever. I avoided it at all costs. I even kept my toothbrush downstairs in my parents bathroom. And yet they never caught on to my shenanigans...Until that one day. My Dad was out of town on a hunting trip and my Mom used my bathroom upstairs. I heard her scream and then I saw water rushing under the door. She came rushing out and told me she was going to get the plunger. But it would not stop. Water was spilling into the tiny square of carpet we called a hallway between my room, my parent's office and the bathroom. She managed to get the water to stop and we cleaned up as much as we could. And then she went downstairs to call a plumber.
Instantly she turned to me, raising an eyebrow. Asking me if I had done anything recently to the toilet. I panicked. Oh god she knew. My hands were sweating and my eyes darted back and forth. The memories of the Chocolate Bunny swirling around in my head.
(Note: Obz Asian Bunnies are Obz, but most evil thing I could find that WOULD NOT INVOKE NIGHTMARES [clicking on that link may give you NIGHTMARES FOREVER AND ALWAYS.])
Finally, it sprung from my mouth faster than I had ever spoken before, "AFEWYEARSAGOCLIFFORDANDIFLUSHEDACHOCOLATEBUNNYDOWNTHETOLIETBECAUSEIDIDNTWANTITBECAUSEITHOUGHTTHEPERRYSWOULDFINDOUTTHATIDIDNTWANTTHEBUNNY *breath* ANDITWASSTUPIDANDHEDAREDMETOSOIDIDITANDTHATSWHYIHAVENTUSEDTHATBATHROOMINSOLONGBECAUSEIWASSCAREDITWOULDDOWHATITDIDIMSORRRRYYYYYY!"
And then I cried. For probably ten minutes. My Mom called a plumber and I kept calling myself stupid. She finally calmed me down (after I banged my head on the floor, I think she realized I was JUST A LITTLE upset). She told me I was stupid, but she loved me, and that I shouldn't do stupid things like that, and if I didn't want the bunny then I should have given it to my Dad.
Duh. Why didn't I think of that? Stupid. After that there was a phone call to my Dad in which she used that tone, "YOUR SON!" in which she meant, "THAT THING WHICH IS PARTIAL MADE UP OF YOU, YOU IDIOT."
Anywho, overly long story short, the toilet was fixed and all returned to normal. My parents told me to stop using their bathroom and to start using my own. It was like the end of an era. I was an adult now (not at all). I had to use my own bathroom?! THE HORROR!
The first time was a truly awful experience. My parents bathroom was full of life, time, seashells and royal blue wallpaper. It was full of brilliant shampoos and hygienic products I will not pretend to understand.
(What's that for...?)
My bathroom was...strange. My Mom tried to freshen it up with a new shower curtain, a clear plastic one with fish on it. And a new soft rug. She even gave me an old wicker basket that I filled with my collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics. I won't pretend like I wasn't impressed with how many I had collected over the years...but something about my bathroom seemed...wrong. Almost mismatched. She hung an old 'Cowboy Rack' in it, that used to hang in my room. I used it told hold jewelry and belts and the like. But my bathroom didn't have that same personality as theirs. It seemed so force. The medicine cabinet still held items from when I was a freaking baby. It was just...weird.
The first shower was horrible. I asked for a towel before and my Dad handed me a normal sized faded maroon number and a ratty old faded mint colored wash cloth. Reminding me to wash my face (which I still don't do to this day). A washcloth? A washcloth...didn't we use that to clean up spilled drinks and the like? It looked more like something that should be used in the garage than something I should use to clean my body....I didn't understand. My parents gifted me with plenty of their older towels, ones that they probably received as Gifts from their Justice of the Peace wedding ceremony.
The water was cold, I couldn't figure out how to work the knob that controlled the pressure and heat of the water. Someone with a sense of humor switched the 'hot' and 'cold' markers, respectively , something I found much to common with homes I visited in my childhood. Not as common anymore. My parents bought me the cheapest and largest shampoo they could and a bar of soap that left a weird film on my skin. I missed the squishy loofahs and exfoliant pads. I even asked my Mom for some, and she sort of sighed and got them for me. Honestly, at that point you'd think you would catch on that your son was maybe a little gay. What kid asks for exfoliants?
Afterwards I felt...dirty. Like when your Doctor breaths on you funny or when you do something really embarrassing and you can't seem to get it out of your head. My parents didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal. But to the young Me, it was a traumatic experience. "This is what growing up is like." I thought to myself. Yes. It sure is little me. Awkward showers are the perfect metaphor for life.
(The water drops are like society ripping away at my innocents!)
This went on for some time. I started to get over my odd fear of the upstairs bathroom. I even started to Poop in it (in the toilet...not the shower. Clearly I needed to clarify this). After a few weeks (and probably incessant nagging by me) I got my very own loofahs and body wash and I managed to get my own collection of varying shampoos and conditioners. I even, at one point, had a special shampoo to keep my hair from turning green during the summer from swimming too much. Hooray! All was at peace.
But then they showed up.
(NO. FUCK YOU, YOU EVIL CREATURE FROM HELLLLL.)
I was having a good time in my shower. Nothing awkward, nothing terrible. I was simply minding my own business, shampooing my hair when I saw it. A small wiggly creature was crawling on the wall coming right for me. Let's flash back to what I was saying earlier. I knew a lot about animals but very little about bugs. I knew all about spiders and mosquitoes and bees. I even knew a fair share about roaches, beetles and ladybugs and ants and maybe a little bit about the elusive Praying Mantis. But this little fucker. I knew nothing about him. All I knew was some horrifying small creature of DEATH was coming for me.
He was wiggling along the walls of the bathroom and as soon as I had seen him, he crawled into the small crack of the shower head and was gone. I was sitting there thinking to myself WTFWASTHAT. Of course, I did not ask anyone, because it was gone. I didn't want to seem like a crazy person. So I ignored this creature, at least I tried. Until I came to a simple realization.
At this point in time I was old enough to have seen recently released to VHS (oh snap!) The Matrix. My friends convinced my Mom that I was old enough to watch it. It wasn't that bad. My Mom finally cracked and let me watch my first Rated R movie by myself without her there. And I am here to tell you:
That movie fucked me up.
I spent nights wondering things like, 'OH GOD I'M IN A FREAKY GOO TUB AND THE WORLD IS REALLY FILLED WITH EVIL ROBOTS'. It messed me up almost as bad as Signs did (So many glasses of water around my bed...) But the worst part was that I saw that Silverfish probably 3 months before I saw this movie. So now I was convinced that this THING in my shower was the Robot Worm from The Matrix
(OH GOD GET OUT OF MY BELLYBUTTON D8)
I already had a fear of things going into my bellybutton, brought on upon by my mother who also had an irrational fear of playing with her bellybutton. I later found out that my Grandma told her as a child, when she would not stop playing with her own Bellybutton, that if she played with it anymore, she would pop like balloon, and fly around the room and that her body would deflate and she would have to live like that forever and ever. My Mom did not take this very well, and assumed this was TRUFAX for most of her younger life, leaving her to scream at me and place this irrational fear onto myself.
Remember when that commercial came out for those Jeans, where the bellybuttons sang "I'm Coming Out." My Mom almost threw up every time it came on TV. It was hilarious.
So now there are robotic bugs living in my walls. I spent a good three months not knowing wtf a Silverfish was. I assumed it was just a robot that wanted to burrow inside of me. Totally a rational fear, yes? That was, until one day, I saw one on our living room wall. My Dog, also noticed said bug, and she did not take kindly to intruders in HER house. So she went over to the wall, and licked it up. Eating the poor Robot Worm whole. I squirmed with fear that my dog was now digesting the robotic creature, until my Mom walked in and asked me what she was eating.
I wasn't quiet sure how to explain what it was to my Mom. So I told it, "A ROBOT WORM WITH LEGS!" she sort of stared at me like, "Wtf is wrong with this kid." until she realized what I meant and she said.
"Oh, an Earwig."
What.
"Yeah, an earwig. You've never seen them before?" I nodded, a little nervous. Yes. Maybe I had seen this 'Earwig'. So I asked, "Why are they called an earwig."
"Because they climb into your ears and suck at your brains." she said with a straight face, and walked away.
...
................
D8
DDDDDDDD8
OH GOD WHAT?! THESE LITTLE BASTARD CRAWL INTO MY EARS AND EAT MY BRAINS?! THEY ARE ZOMBIE BUGS?! WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS?! I NEED TO WEAR PROTECTIVE EAR WEAR WHEN I AM SLEEPING. I HAVE BEEN SEEING THESE BASTARDS FOR MONTHS. OH GOD WHYYYYYY.
So. I spent a good...year believing this. Everytime I would see one, I would immedietly panic and find something to kill it with. That or I would stand paralized with my own fear as it wiggled happily across my bathtub and into the cracks behind my faucets or down the drains.
I'm not going to lie, I was probably the most gullible kid I have ever met. I believed anything and everything my friends told me. Namely, Ashley. She knew that I was gullible as hell and she had PLENTY of games in which she tricked me into believing the most ridiculous stories and schemes known to man. I'm still fairly gullible now. But not as bad as when I was a kid and ACTUALLY THOUGHT Silverfish would actually crawl into my ears and eat my brains.
I learned later, obviously, that they are not trying to eat my brains. But to this day I still freak out when I see the little fuckers. They are ALWAYS in the god damn shower too, the safest place you could be. They always sneak up on my while I'm having a good time bathing and washing my hair. Then I turn around. AND ITS JUST LOOKING AT ME.
(WHYYYYYYYYY???)
I bring up Silverfish now because my Boyfriend was in bed a few nights ago and told me there was a bug on him. He is severely allergic to practically every bug in the known universe. To the point where if he is stung by a Bee, if not brought to a hospital ASAP, he might die. So much, in fact, that after a trip to visit his family, he was bitten by mosquitoes on his legs. His legs were swollen for about a week and a half. He was in so much pain every single night. Its sad. SO! When I hear "I think there is a bug on me" I sort of go into panic because OH GOD HE IS GOING TO DIE. So he ran into my office area outside our bedroom and showed me where said bug was. And guess what it was....
(*cries forever*)
The little fucker abandoned ship and dove onto my leg, in which I went into a 5 year old girl hissy fit of "KILL IT". Then it jumped off my leg and onto the floor, in which we have fairly high carpet and my office light hits my desk in such a way, where no light hits the ground. So I don't know where it went.
....nnnnn
So what do I do? I go over to my couch and pick up my Cat, who has been brave enough to kill Bathtub Silverfish in the past. I placed him on the floor where the little monster might be and screamed KILL IT! To which he looked up at me and meowed, walking away in insult that I did not pick him up for pets.
.....hhhhnnnnngggg
I still don't know where the little guy is. But if I seem him, he shall meet his end with the cover of a fairly HEAVY book. Or a show. Or if I have a hungry enough Cat...a Cat.
So I was pretty knowledgeable on animals growing up. I would see things and know what it was. I even know a lot about things I had never seen before. Hell I loved the zoo! I even knew about those kind of animals. But I was never really into bugs. Bugs freaked me out. I think its because of how freaky they look. Most people would agree, but there are plenty of people (like my boyfriend) who would disagree. Bugs are just...weird. They stare at you with their one thousand eyes and their extra limbs. Looking at you like, "What. You wanna mess with me? I will bite you with my VENOM" Yeah, poison. Why do little things like that get so much of it. I wish I had venom, bite the next person that cuts in front of my at the grocery store.
So I was a dork, none the less, and I spent a good amount of my time reading about animals...but mostly I played video games. But that is beside the point. So lets move onto the Bathroom, where this incident takes places.
When I was about eight years old, I flushed a chocolate bunny down the toilet. Yes, an entire chocolate bunny. It was a dare by my childhood friend Clifford (who is now a pot head that goes by the name 'Cliff'). I had received the present from my neighbors, an awesome elderly couple who was called Mrs. Perry and Mr. Appletree (because he told us he was Johnny Appleseed...and we believed him...because we were eight...), for Easter one year. I was never really into candy as a child. I was weird. I would have much rather had a giant pile of fruit and veggies then a lot of chocolate and sugar. I don't know why. When I got older my parents stopped buying my candy for holidays and juts gave me some Reeses and Pringals. I'm a freak, but for some reason, this giant glorious beast of a chocolate did not appeal to me in the least.
When I mentioned to him that I didn't want to eat said brick of holiday deliciousness, he dared me to flush it down the John. So, because I was a timid child who was easily peer pressured into situations, I did it. But first, because I was an intelligent peer pressured child, I realized that this rather large rabbit was not going to go down easily. So I ripped him up, piece by piece, and flushed him away. Clearly, if my poop was this size, the bunny would go away easily. And I didn't have to be embarrassed about not eating this lovely gift from my neighbors.
So flush by flush, the bunny went away. Until finally, we got to the last piece, his rather large bunny feet. And in the last moment of idiotic empowerment, I assumed "Yeah, this will totally all go down." and it didn't. And the toilet, angry with his bowels full of masticated chocolate bunny, spilled out its water in a fit of fury, rage, and indigestion. Luckily, it did not over flow. It simply reached the brim of the toilet and sat there. Staring at us.
At eight years old, I had yet to produce the poo that would be considered 'unflushable'. I had never had to use a plunger before, sure I had flushed too much toliet paper before, and simply bellowed for my parents. But I couldn't here. Not now! Not when the evidence of my Bunny MURDER was causing this. I didn't even know how the damn plunger even worked. So we shut the lid and left the bathroom. I was too scared to tell my parents. Because at that moment I realized what a dumb idea it was. I had already been yelled at in the past for flushing a piece of string down the toilet, the spool on my fingers, watching it unravel with every flush. I didn't know what kinds of things people did in bathrooms, but I always knew that spending too much time in the bathroom or doing something on the toilet was a BAD thing. Television told me that, "Little Johnny's been spending TOO MUCH TIME IN THE BATHROOM *wink wink nudge nudge*." Clearly if we spent too much time in here, we would get in trouble. I assumed that maybe I had angered some toilet God that was going to punish me, via my Mother. I had no clue what would happen to me. I was a naive little kid.
So I abandoned the upstairs bathroom. I stopped taking baths in my bathroom and announced that I was now old enough to shower! My parents were so proud! So I started to use their shower. Pretending to be completely oblivious that my bathtub also came with a shower.
My parents bathroom seemed to be magical. My Mom was not a 'fancy lady' not by any means. She had perfume and make up and fancy shampoos and soaps (by my standards, now a days I realize how cheap my parents really were). So when I took showers it was kind of a magical experience. They had loofahs and brush on long sticks for your backs. Magic stones that made your feet soft, scrubbers for your arms that ex-foliated your skin. I had at least 5 different shampoos to choose from, and three different conditioners. Body wash a plenty and all the different soaps I could dream of! Not to mention my Mom rarely used those 'last minute bath box' Christmas gifts. So I always used whatever fancy products came in there. Not to mention she had a luscious green shower curtain with tassels and it felt like a cave, free from the dangers of the world outside.
This went on for a fairly long time. I would say at least two years, maybe more. My memory isn't very good. Anyway, my Mom started to work a little bit more out of our house, using the computer and our AWESOME AOL 6.0. Usually she only spent a good hour or two upstairs working, and then went back downstairs to do other things. So she never used my bathroom. My SUPER SECRET DARK SECRET was still a secret. I never used my bathroom, ever. I avoided it at all costs. I even kept my toothbrush downstairs in my parents bathroom. And yet they never caught on to my shenanigans...Until that one day. My Dad was out of town on a hunting trip and my Mom used my bathroom upstairs. I heard her scream and then I saw water rushing under the door. She came rushing out and told me she was going to get the plunger. But it would not stop. Water was spilling into the tiny square of carpet we called a hallway between my room, my parent's office and the bathroom. She managed to get the water to stop and we cleaned up as much as we could. And then she went downstairs to call a plumber.
Instantly she turned to me, raising an eyebrow. Asking me if I had done anything recently to the toilet. I panicked. Oh god she knew. My hands were sweating and my eyes darted back and forth. The memories of the Chocolate Bunny swirling around in my head.
Finally, it sprung from my mouth faster than I had ever spoken before, "AFEWYEARSAGOCLIFFORDANDIFLUSHEDACHOCOLATEBUNNYDOWNTHETOLIETBECAUSEIDIDNTWANTITBECAUSEITHOUGHTTHEPERRYSWOULDFINDOUTTHATIDIDNTWANTTHEBUNNY *breath* ANDITWASSTUPIDANDHEDAREDMETOSOIDIDITANDTHATSWHYIHAVENTUSEDTHATBATHROOMINSOLONGBECAUSEIWASSCAREDITWOULDDOWHATITDIDIMSORRRRYYYYYY!"
And then I cried. For probably ten minutes. My Mom called a plumber and I kept calling myself stupid. She finally calmed me down (after I banged my head on the floor, I think she realized I was JUST A LITTLE upset). She told me I was stupid, but she loved me, and that I shouldn't do stupid things like that, and if I didn't want the bunny then I should have given it to my Dad.
Duh. Why didn't I think of that? Stupid. After that there was a phone call to my Dad in which she used that tone, "YOUR SON!" in which she meant, "THAT THING WHICH IS PARTIAL MADE UP OF YOU, YOU IDIOT."
Anywho, overly long story short, the toilet was fixed and all returned to normal. My parents told me to stop using their bathroom and to start using my own. It was like the end of an era. I was an adult now (not at all). I had to use my own bathroom?! THE HORROR!
The first time was a truly awful experience. My parents bathroom was full of life, time, seashells and royal blue wallpaper. It was full of brilliant shampoos and hygienic products I will not pretend to understand.
My bathroom was...strange. My Mom tried to freshen it up with a new shower curtain, a clear plastic one with fish on it. And a new soft rug. She even gave me an old wicker basket that I filled with my collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics. I won't pretend like I wasn't impressed with how many I had collected over the years...but something about my bathroom seemed...wrong. Almost mismatched. She hung an old 'Cowboy Rack' in it, that used to hang in my room. I used it told hold jewelry and belts and the like. But my bathroom didn't have that same personality as theirs. It seemed so force. The medicine cabinet still held items from when I was a freaking baby. It was just...weird.
The first shower was horrible. I asked for a towel before and my Dad handed me a normal sized faded maroon number and a ratty old faded mint colored wash cloth. Reminding me to wash my face (which I still don't do to this day). A washcloth? A washcloth...didn't we use that to clean up spilled drinks and the like? It looked more like something that should be used in the garage than something I should use to clean my body....I didn't understand. My parents gifted me with plenty of their older towels, ones that they probably received as Gifts from their Justice of the Peace wedding ceremony.
The water was cold, I couldn't figure out how to work the knob that controlled the pressure and heat of the water. Someone with a sense of humor switched the 'hot' and 'cold' markers, respectively , something I found much to common with homes I visited in my childhood. Not as common anymore. My parents bought me the cheapest and largest shampoo they could and a bar of soap that left a weird film on my skin. I missed the squishy loofahs and exfoliant pads. I even asked my Mom for some, and she sort of sighed and got them for me. Honestly, at that point you'd think you would catch on that your son was maybe a little gay. What kid asks for exfoliants?
Afterwards I felt...dirty. Like when your Doctor breaths on you funny or when you do something really embarrassing and you can't seem to get it out of your head. My parents didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal. But to the young Me, it was a traumatic experience. "This is what growing up is like." I thought to myself. Yes. It sure is little me. Awkward showers are the perfect metaphor for life.
This went on for some time. I started to get over my odd fear of the upstairs bathroom. I even started to Poop in it (in the toilet...not the shower. Clearly I needed to clarify this). After a few weeks (and probably incessant nagging by me) I got my very own loofahs and body wash and I managed to get my own collection of varying shampoos and conditioners. I even, at one point, had a special shampoo to keep my hair from turning green during the summer from swimming too much. Hooray! All was at peace.
But then they showed up.
I was having a good time in my shower. Nothing awkward, nothing terrible. I was simply minding my own business, shampooing my hair when I saw it. A small wiggly creature was crawling on the wall coming right for me. Let's flash back to what I was saying earlier. I knew a lot about animals but very little about bugs. I knew all about spiders and mosquitoes and bees. I even knew a fair share about roaches, beetles and ladybugs and ants and maybe a little bit about the elusive Praying Mantis. But this little fucker. I knew nothing about him. All I knew was some horrifying small creature of DEATH was coming for me.
He was wiggling along the walls of the bathroom and as soon as I had seen him, he crawled into the small crack of the shower head and was gone. I was sitting there thinking to myself WTFWASTHAT. Of course, I did not ask anyone, because it was gone. I didn't want to seem like a crazy person. So I ignored this creature, at least I tried. Until I came to a simple realization.
At this point in time I was old enough to have seen recently released to VHS (oh snap!) The Matrix. My friends convinced my Mom that I was old enough to watch it. It wasn't that bad. My Mom finally cracked and let me watch my first Rated R movie by myself without her there. And I am here to tell you:
That movie fucked me up.
I spent nights wondering things like, 'OH GOD I'M IN A FREAKY GOO TUB AND THE WORLD IS REALLY FILLED WITH EVIL ROBOTS'. It messed me up almost as bad as Signs did (So many glasses of water around my bed...) But the worst part was that I saw that Silverfish probably 3 months before I saw this movie. So now I was convinced that this THING in my shower was the Robot Worm from The Matrix
I already had a fear of things going into my bellybutton, brought on upon by my mother who also had an irrational fear of playing with her bellybutton. I later found out that my Grandma told her as a child, when she would not stop playing with her own Bellybutton, that if she played with it anymore, she would pop like balloon, and fly around the room and that her body would deflate and she would have to live like that forever and ever. My Mom did not take this very well, and assumed this was TRUFAX for most of her younger life, leaving her to scream at me and place this irrational fear onto myself.
Remember when that commercial came out for those Jeans, where the bellybuttons sang "I'm Coming Out." My Mom almost threw up every time it came on TV. It was hilarious.
So now there are robotic bugs living in my walls. I spent a good three months not knowing wtf a Silverfish was. I assumed it was just a robot that wanted to burrow inside of me. Totally a rational fear, yes? That was, until one day, I saw one on our living room wall. My Dog, also noticed said bug, and she did not take kindly to intruders in HER house. So she went over to the wall, and licked it up. Eating the poor Robot Worm whole. I squirmed with fear that my dog was now digesting the robotic creature, until my Mom walked in and asked me what she was eating.
I wasn't quiet sure how to explain what it was to my Mom. So I told it, "A ROBOT WORM WITH LEGS!" she sort of stared at me like, "Wtf is wrong with this kid." until she realized what I meant and she said.
"Oh, an Earwig."
What.
"Yeah, an earwig. You've never seen them before?" I nodded, a little nervous. Yes. Maybe I had seen this 'Earwig'. So I asked, "Why are they called an earwig."
"Because they climb into your ears and suck at your brains." she said with a straight face, and walked away.
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D8
DDDDDDDD8
OH GOD WHAT?! THESE LITTLE BASTARD CRAWL INTO MY EARS AND EAT MY BRAINS?! THEY ARE ZOMBIE BUGS?! WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS?! I NEED TO WEAR PROTECTIVE EAR WEAR WHEN I AM SLEEPING. I HAVE BEEN SEEING THESE BASTARDS FOR MONTHS. OH GOD WHYYYYYY.
So. I spent a good...year believing this. Everytime I would see one, I would immedietly panic and find something to kill it with. That or I would stand paralized with my own fear as it wiggled happily across my bathtub and into the cracks behind my faucets or down the drains.
I'm not going to lie, I was probably the most gullible kid I have ever met. I believed anything and everything my friends told me. Namely, Ashley. She knew that I was gullible as hell and she had PLENTY of games in which she tricked me into believing the most ridiculous stories and schemes known to man. I'm still fairly gullible now. But not as bad as when I was a kid and ACTUALLY THOUGHT Silverfish would actually crawl into my ears and eat my brains.
I learned later, obviously, that they are not trying to eat my brains. But to this day I still freak out when I see the little fuckers. They are ALWAYS in the god damn shower too, the safest place you could be. They always sneak up on my while I'm having a good time bathing and washing my hair. Then I turn around. AND ITS JUST LOOKING AT ME.
I bring up Silverfish now because my Boyfriend was in bed a few nights ago and told me there was a bug on him. He is severely allergic to practically every bug in the known universe. To the point where if he is stung by a Bee, if not brought to a hospital ASAP, he might die. So much, in fact, that after a trip to visit his family, he was bitten by mosquitoes on his legs. His legs were swollen for about a week and a half. He was in so much pain every single night. Its sad. SO! When I hear "I think there is a bug on me" I sort of go into panic because OH GOD HE IS GOING TO DIE. So he ran into my office area outside our bedroom and showed me where said bug was. And guess what it was....
The little fucker abandoned ship and dove onto my leg, in which I went into a 5 year old girl hissy fit of "KILL IT". Then it jumped off my leg and onto the floor, in which we have fairly high carpet and my office light hits my desk in such a way, where no light hits the ground. So I don't know where it went.
....nnnnn
So what do I do? I go over to my couch and pick up my Cat, who has been brave enough to kill Bathtub Silverfish in the past. I placed him on the floor where the little monster might be and screamed KILL IT! To which he looked up at me and meowed, walking away in insult that I did not pick him up for pets.
.....hhhhnnnnngggg
I still don't know where the little guy is. But if I seem him, he shall meet his end with the cover of a fairly HEAVY book. Or a show. Or if I have a hungry enough Cat...a Cat.
One crawled in my ear this morning and fell out. Just wanted to let you know.
ReplyDeleteI think these bugs resemble the creatures from Wrath of Khan--but this dates me quite a bit.
ReplyDelete