Exhibit A: that time I thought there was someone in the house.
I was home alone. At night. At the age of like, thirteen years old. And to make matters worse? It was October, season of serial killer movie marathons. Well, I hear a noise in the back of my house. A thump-thump noise. So, because I was thirteen and not spectacularly bright (I was in my dumb phase...), I thought someone was inside. Never mind the lack of barking dogs, someone was in the house.
What do I do? Do I call the cops? Call my parents? Call a friend? Nope. My dumb ass gets a kitchen knife and goes back there. I fling open the door, aaaand...
One of the dogs got himself locked into the bedroom and was trying to bump his way out. Yeah. It was...not my proudest moment. But I was gonna go back there and stab somebody! I was gonna do it, man!
Exhibit B: the roach in the bathroom.
Potential intruder? Bring it. The lowly cockroach? NOPE NOPE NOPE.
I hate roaches. I hate them. I don't know why, but I do. I have Katsaridaphobia-fear of roaches. (I feel a bit validated that there's a name-I'm not alone!) I won't go near them, dead or alive. If I must deal with it, I will get the vacuum extension and do it from a distance. Or do what I did last time I saw one in the bathroom-fling a sticky mouse trap inside and slam the door and run to another room.
Hey, I did say I was a Selective Wimp...
-Lalla
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