Domestic Exterminator

DOMESTIC EXTERMINATOR

"You can't hide forever, pal. Sooner or later, I'll find you."

Am I getting old, or what? I used to take pretty good care of
cockroaches and all these nasty pests. Now, all I've managed is to
cover the walls with sleeper-tracks.

"Well, okay, I'm getting the spray, then. If that's the way you want
it."

I'm about to enter the kitchen, when a familiar, high-pitched voice
startles me.

"Don't you dare!"

"Sorry, darling, didn't see you. Are you mopping the floor?"

She scrutinizes me in her typical belittling way. "You want another
beer from the fridge, don't you?"

"No, no. . . I just need the spray from the cupboard. There's a roach
somewhere in here and, let me tell you, it's not a usual one."

"Not a usual one, eh?"

"Yeah, I mean, I've turned the whole place upside-down, and the damn
thing is still alive and kicking. The smartest cockroach I've ever
seen!"

"You're exaggerating, sugar. It's not the first time an insect has
outsmarted you."

That's my girl-- always having something nice to say. She's still on
her knees, moving backwards.

"You drunk bastard!" she yells.

The mop just misses me.

"Take your dirty hands off my butt!"

"Angel. . ."

"Just get the hell out of here, will you?"

"All right, all right. . ." I peek into my fist. "Looks like I won't
need that spray from the cupboard, anyway."