March 3, 2011
So there I was, no shit. Walking into the pet store with my mom (no doubt in search of provisions for the guinea pig breeding factory in our backyard), and my eyeballs honed in on them like a Janet Jackson nipple slip. I couldn't stop looking. They were in an aquarium on the counter next to the cash register. So many of them, it almost seemed like they were one giant blob of lava in a lava lamp, moving and morphing together into different abstract shapes. I stood and stared. Fascinating. They seemed so exaggerated compared to their smaller, more pestilent brothers. Of course, there was the signature elongated oval shape, but twice as big. The deep copper and brown coloring, but twice as brilliant. And, of course, twice as utterly filthy. The whole concept of it was so damn repugnant it was almost sexy. And I had to have them. My dear momma, being the under-appreciated superhero that she was, didn't even question me. Of course I would want them. She wasn't even surprised. The pet store owner was, though. Shocked really. So much so that he gave them to me for free. "Not only are you the first girl to show any interest in them, you're the first person to show any interest in them," He said.
And off I went to pick out my aquarium;
to pick out my climbing things so they could...well...climb,
and maybe some toys so they could....umm.... play.
Food? What the hell do they eat? There was no Google back then. I guessed they probably ate anything, considering it was already common knowledge that they would be one of the few living things to survive nuclear holocaust.
After piling my loot up on the counter, I picked them out. Both of them. Don't misunderstand me, I stuck my hand in there and picked them out. And I named them. You shall be Julius. And you shall be Cesar. Indeed. I loved them. And, for a while, our life together was copacetic.
I'd sit indian-style on the floor in my room, nose pressed against the glass. I'd slowly lift the screened top on the aquarium and stick my hand in just far enough to make them rear back and hiss. The corner of my mouth would form an ever-so-nefarious sneer. Marvelous. Magical! I loved them.
One day, I decided something was wrong. No, they weren't sick. They hadn't gone missing. But they were clearly missing something. How have they even lived this long without the one thing all living things can't forgo? My babies must have water! I postulated. Eyebrow contorted into a faux devil's horn. My babies must have water. Yessssss. Only then shall their dominion be worthy.
Taking no chances on my ability to ever again remember that they did, indeed, need water (and remembering that poor stiff bunny my momma peeled from its sarcophagus of newspaper and rotten lettuce- and empty water bowl- only weeks prior), I decided my little scaly minions should get nothing less than the best. A whole cereal bowl full of water. Because it just fucking made sense.
And this is about the time in the story where I look back on my life and think of all the ineptitude I could have been spared as a kid if only I'd had Google. Because then I'd know that Madagascar hissing cockroaches get all the water they need from their food. And I'd know the possibility of either Julius or Cesar being female, having a gazillion eggs incubating in her little roach vagina, and subsequently laying those eggs to hatch in my bedroom. But more importantly, I would have been saved the trauma and heartache of waking up the next morning to find my current brilliantly insidious plot for world domination floating upside down in a cereal bowl full of water.
20 minions who have sucked on my crap:
Oh no!!! Did you get new ones?
This was about the time I decided I should never ever be responsible for keeping anything alive anymore, including plants. At least until I got knocked up. And yes, I did worry about my ability to keep my children alive based solely on my track record with childhood pets. I figure 15 years is definitely a good record!
Cockroaches are the one animal, besides Howard Stern, that will live through the Apocalypse; and you managed to kill them.
I love it that you have this power!!
At first I was like, and then I was like. Wow. For a moment, I thought it'd be a water dragon. Not hissing cockroaches. Blergh.
Did you at least Fear Factor with them? Let them sit on your face? Eat them? Anything?!
Doesn't matter. Twisted, you are. Have you met my brother?
This was awesome. Great story and that last line killed me. So funny and so heartbreaking all at once.
Visiting from TRDC.
cockblocked! best title ever. but i never thought i'd be sad about cockroaches. especially about cleopatra and her babies.
Hilarious! And sad, the dying part was sad, of course, but back to hilarious. As I was reading I was so hoping they were cockroaches and delighted that you were planning to take over the world with them! You described them with such gusto and love that I want to go get some.
that was so funny. of all the things i thought they were going to be cockroaches never ever entered my mind. LOL great story
This is, hands down, the most unique turn on the prompt I've read so far!
Hilarious and quirky and yes, poignant.
AWESOME! Hahahahaha... I always think about how much better my childhood would have been with google. I also think about how I'd have been world famous if I could have chronicled all my stupid misadventures on a blog growing up.
By the way, I love your blog!
Great story, very engaging and oh, I was so afraid you were going there.... *sigh* i hate, hate cockroaches. They give me the willies....
Wine induced, and now happily amused, I am off to bed.......to dream of cockroaches? OMG
Hissing cockroaches. Oh my gosh, how great is that!!
Loved this.
OMG. I'm laughing my ass off. First, because you managed to kill cockroaches. Second, because you actually WANTED cockroaches.
LOVED this post.
Visiting from TRDC.
Ha! Google really is a marvelous development. Poor cockroaches. I love that you made them hiss. And that the pet store person just gave them to you.
@ Josh- Alas, no. Unfortunately, Fear Factor had not yet become a cultural force implying only the manliest among us are those who eat roach Popsicles. I thought I was badass enough just by playing with them back then.
@ Patty- I actually thought about using Cleopatra in the title, but if you check out my post called "That Cousin O' Mine," you'll find out why I didn't.
Thanks er'body!
Oh my gosh, hilarious. Visiting from trdc.
BRILLANT!
I sort of accidentally hatched a praying mantis egg sac in my room, in March, When I was 9.
Mazel Tov!
Oh my word! "a gazillion eggs incubating in her little roach vagina" - I think I've seriously lost my appetite for at least a week.
My jeans and I thank you :)
Poor little dudes. But with the names Julius and Cesar, could there be a happy ending?
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