This morning, I went into the kitchen at work, where Lisa was making another batch of Nubian Princess Coffee™ (“Made with real Nubians!”®) and dumped out my coffee cup from Friday into the sink. Along with the three-day old remnants of Friday’s coffee came a dead cockroach, the clear victim of drowning.

Lisa: That just came out of your cup.
Me: I know.
Lisa: Because I just cleaned the sink and I know it wasn’t there a minute ago.
Me: Stop rubbing it in and let me live in denial.
Lisa: There’s bleach.
Me: I know.
Lisa: And brillo pads.
Me: I think I’ll stick it in the microwave, too.
(pause)
Lisa: You know I’m not going to pick up the dead cockroach, right?

Fortunately, Ray and I are the perfect couple. I don’t mind scooping up dead roaches (not that we’ve really ever had any in the house that haven’t clearly come from outside), which skeeve him out, and he’s OK with killing stinging insects, which are my remaining childhood phobia.

The cup in question was cleaned out with bleach and run in the microwave for 5 minutes, and I would like to forget that the entire incident ever happened. And from now on, the coffee cup is going upside down on my desk when I leave for the day.

Good news is now I’m wide awake and paranoid.

Tags: Mondays, roaches