Barb Voyage!

MARCH 27, 2015 - Mr. Jones is DEAD!

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged.  Stomach hell, swollen “dancing” knee injury, sore throat, and general “muse blockage,” tonight, as I sat listening to the ocean waves on my new upstairs patio, I was inspired - re-ignited.  I didn’t however, set to task - until Mr. Jones came to visit.

I have never been one to wear house slippers, but being as there is a bit of sand and dust here, and I have a free pair of white slip-ons from the Hotel Vernet in Paris, I keep them next to my bed, and have made it a habit to use them.  Coincidentally, they are engraved with the Hotel Vernet insignia “HV” - which reminds me of Hazel and Violet (my granddaughters) every time I walk in them.  They are officially, my “ZaZa” slippers.

Tonight, they are at the “lavenderia” (laundromat).  I was to have picked up my clean things by 6, and missed the “fetching” time, as I sat idly watching the sun go down with my friend, Trenie.

At 10PM, after putting clean sheets on my bed, taking a quick tepid shower, and preparing a lovely pasta with fresh green beans, I settled in with a Ben Stiller movie.  My leg was propped high on two sofa cushions, gel pack wrapped snuggly around my knee.  I was enjoying my “pasta verdure,” when out of the corner of my eye, I sensed movement. 

“Egads!”  I cried aloud.  It’s a cockroach the size of two grown men’s thumbs!  Mortified, but trapped, I decided to let it continue in its direction towards my closet, wondering if it would find a home in my sneaker, or crawl up into my suitcase.  I purposed to buy boric acid and sugar tomorrow, a surefire concoction that purportedly makes cockroaches explode.  Lovely.

Three seconds later, “Mr. Jones” returns.  “Mr. Jones” is the name I used when addressing any ill-behaved male child.  

“Homework, Mr. Jones.”

“Garbage out, Mr. Jones?” etc.  You get it.  Well I was determined to NOT let this little sucker ruin my pasta party.  Quickyl I unwrapped the gel pack, hopped out of bed, opened the closet and grabbed a pair of flips flops.  The thought crossed my mind that it is highly possible that when I turn around Mr. Jones will be gone.

But no!!  There he was - attempting to pass under the duct-taped door threshold.  NEVER did I think I would praise God for duct tape, but tonight?  I did!  Mr. Jones was trapped.

I began to talk audibly to Mr. Jones, telling him to give it up, and not move until I came up with a plan of action.  I did so quickly.

I grabbed my Rebok and BAM!  Splat! DEAD! I have it heard it said that cockroaches can withstand ANYthing, but he’s still there, his innards out, his antennae erect.  I am a warrior!

Tomorrow I will figure where to hold his funeral.  Viva la Mexico!