I am sitting on the roof of our new house on a tiny little square of concrete accessible via a steep set of stairs which up until a few moments ago was safety locked with a gate.
I’ve climbed up here because it is the only place I feel safe from the cockroaches.
My escape to the roof came just hours into our first evening in the new place, which is a completely different one that we had originally secured. That is a whole other story.
After tucking the kids into bed and getting them off into slumber-land I stepped into the kitchen, which only a couple of hours earlier I had finished scrubbing, on my hands and knees, with bleach to ensure it was clean for my kids to crawl around on.
In the glow from the oven light left on after cooking home-made pizza I saw dark specks on the white marble floor. Wondering what they were flicked on the ceiling light which sent the specks scurrying, back into their dark hiding places and me into a frenzy.
Hearing a screech, my husband came running and began furiously stamping out the disgusting little creatures I’ve only ever seen live once, at the Victoria, B.C. bug zoo. He captured one in a bottle my daughter has used to catch butterflies and no kidding, it was nearly two inches long, its unmistakable barbed legs sticking out from its sides like razor wire.
It’s a good thing I had already opened a bottle of wine because at that moment, alcohol was the only thing that would calm my frayed nerves.
I immediately collapsed into a heap of tears. I must have done something really shitty in my past life because the crap just keeps coming.
We are in this house instead of the one we originally rented because our landlord there ended up shafting us, switching out all the furnishings he’d promised and generally making our life miserable by constantly contacting us with some kooky question or another. and we weren’t even living there yet.
The last straw was when we returned from our short trip to the beach to a series of e-mails, one of which said to call him right away. When I did, he said he’d thought we left the country because he hadn’t heard from us, and said he’d just as soon stay in house the now if we wanted to get out of the contract. Happy to do so because it was becoming apparent that he was stark raving mad, we searched and found a new place. But the next day, he reniged on his offer and refused to return our deposit — a full month’s rent.
Money isn’t worth our sanity so we decided to forgo the deposit and rent the home we saw in the a little town nearby to where we first landed, called Santo Domingo.
It seemed to be everything we were looking for — and now roaches. Spiders, ants, flies — I can live with those bugs. But roaches?
It’s going to be a long night. I only wish I’d brought a sleeping bag.