SMACKING THE SHIT OUT OF SILVERFISH

I live in an old house, a very old house to be exact, and it has its share of vermin.  For a short while I had an extremely bold field mouse that wreaked havoc with my kitchen counters and would sit out in the wide open, waving at us like Max the dog on the back of the Grinch's sleigh.  There has also been the occasional wasp in the house, a squirrel in the wall, and one year I was on perpetual stink bug duty.

One constant, however, has been silverfish.  I've talked about these creatures before -- extremely hairy, leggy insects that resemble overly-dressed centipedes.  Unfortunately, the field stone foundation and ancient wood frame of the house make my townhouse and the one attached to it very attractive to silverfish.  They're usually nocturnal (but not exclusively), and they like to crawl out of the bath tub drain and the heating vents.

Don't be freaked out.  It's not like an infestation or anything.  They don't invade like ants.  But, when it rains a lot, as has been the recent case, I'll see one or two or three in random places: walls, basement, bathroom. 

Personally, I despise the bastards.  Anything that can move faster than I can and resides in the plumbing just plain skeeves me out.  After a week of rain, though, I am not remotely surprised to see a small silverfish hiding in the tub when I get up around 4:00 a.m. and wander to the bathroom.  It's just a bit of a thing, not at all jumpy, and it freezes in place the moment I turn on the light.  This makes it easy pickings when I grab a nearby broom and smoosh the insect into about a million pieces, smashed body parts and hundreds of tentacled legs flying around in different directions.

Take that, ya little asshole.  Come bother me in my bathroom and suffer the consequences.

I turn around to put the broom back and damn near step on a much bigger, madrecita version of the silverfish.  This one is about four inches long and is right smack in the middle of the doorway between the bathroom and the nearby closet where I keep the broom.

I jump about two feet into the air and yell at the bug, as if calling it a motherfucking bastard is going to have any effect.  This one is unaffected by the light and by my presence, and it hatches its escape plan back toward the nearby heating duct. I quickly maneuver the broom around, which is amazing since I'm technically still half-asleep, and I attempt to crush the larger silverfish with the bristles.  I pick up the broom after the beating, and the fucker starts moving. 

Smoosh, smoosh, smoosh, whap whap, whap, smack, smack, smack!

Finally, I lift the broom again.  Severed thorax and other silvery fishy parts squirm across the floor (because these things keep moving long after the killing is done), and its disattached legs twitch independently for a few seconds.  I open the back door and, after three attempts, manage to sweep most of the silverfish up and over the door jamb and onto the stoop.

That's what I get for my false bravado.  Kill the little one, then nearly piss my pants over the big one.  Damn you, silverfish, and damn you rainy conditions that encourage the little shits to abandon their darker digs.  Thank goodness the sun is out when I come home from work because eventually I'll need a shower tonight, and I'll be happy to do it without an uninvited, rain-inspired, bug-eyed audience.