Last Night.

As we prepare for domestication, we spend most of our nights cooking (and eating) dinners together, followed by crossing things off our to-do list.

Last night's to-do list was as follows:
Work out (body by Heath for me!)
Grocery Shopping (J's favorite chore)
Cut J's hair (my third attempt, with successful results.)
Practice songs for a wedding this weekend (obviously, this was not my task.)
Wrap wedding presents (obviously, this was not J's task.)
Wash dishes from dinner

It was in the last task where we arrive to our story. My house is about 40ish years old, on a crawl space, and near the beach. Aka, I have bugs. Lots of them. Big ones. Frequently. I've been pretty good about killing them myself, always having a flip flop around with which to kill them, and disposing of dead bugs. Except for last night. Conversation was as follows:

GAHHHHHH! COME HERE! BRING YOUR SHOE! HURRY!
what? OMG THAT THING IS HUGE!... WHERE DID IT GO?
BEHIND THE SHELF. Hold on. I'll move this stuff out of the way. (pause. pause. pause.) THERE HE IS!
WHERE DID HE GO?
OGIAOIGNSGOIN!!!! (flick giant cockroach to the floor)
WHY DID YOU TOUCH HIM?!?! (smash)
Gross. His head and his body are in two different places.

Welcome to the House of Gold.