Roach motel

We have roaches. There, I've said it. It's felt like a shameful secret, so I didn't want to admit it to anyone. But, we got roaches.

They came with the house, and we kind of figured they would, considering it' a 90-year-old house in the deep south. But these ain't no palmetto bugs. These are some seriously bad-ass mother fuckers. These are roaches that'll knife you for your apple if you don't leave them the core.

We don't leave food out. We don't try to feed the roaches, but, they're here, they live here. We had a fly swatter always on hand when we lived in Kentucky, because for some reason every time we opened the door a fly would come in with us. now we keep the fly swatter on permanent assignment in the kitchen.

Recently, I found a big old granddad prowling, looking for a fight, and I tried to squish him with the washcloth I had. Matthew heard me screaming "Die mother fucker!" and came running. My little washcloth was useless, and not matter how hard I squished, he just got up and walked away. Matthew grabbed the fly-swatter and said, "Stand back." He squished that thing dead like a pro.

My name is Christine Wy, and I have roaches. But man, Team Wy kills 'em every chance we get.