It started out as such a nice evening....

So John and I were watching tv and a potato bug crawled across the floor.  I freaked.  No, that's not accurate.  I FREAKED!!!

Me:  "WHAT'S THAT?!?! WHAT'S THAT!?!?! WHAT'S THAT?!?!?!"
John: "Stop yelling, you're going to wake the bo......What the fuck!!"

It was the size of a mouse.  The scorpions in Arizona were smaller.  The cockroaches were smaller.  The chihuahuas were smaller.

John smacked it with a magazine and it looked at him like, "Are you kidding me with that?"

Then Abbey tried to eat it.
Me: "Get away!  Get away!  Get away!  Get away!"
Abbey:  I'll shake it till it's dead
Me: "DROP IT!!!!"
Abbey: Aw, man.

John hit it again and it crawled under the couch.

John:  "Push the couch over! Wrong way, wrong way!!  IT'S HEADING YOUR WAY!!"

I screamed and jumped up on the couch.

Me: "Where'd it go?"
John: "Back under the couch.  I think it's getting a cigarette."
Potato Bug: stupid humans. Where'd I put my lighter?

So John pushed the couch around trying to get at the hell-bug while I was crouched on the arm offering helpful advice.  "Kill It!" "Kill It!" "Kill It!"  After the fourth smack, John started to get concerned.  Could it be killed?  Would we have to move? Would we have to disclose the potato bug when we sold the house?  He traded the magazine for a shoe and smacked several more times.

Me: "Is it dead?"
John: "I don't know"
Me: "What?"
John: "I DON'T KNOW"
So he put it down the garbage disposal.

It took a glass of wine and half a xanax to calm down.

Here's a pic of the lovely thing.  Don't ask me who the crazy person is that decided to set up a photo shoot rather than kill the fucker.