Newspaper article The Record (Bergen County, NJ)

Bill Is Bugged by an Insect the Size of the Bat Plane

Newspaper article The Record (Bergen County, NJ)

Bill Is Bugged by an Insect the Size of the Bat Plane

Article excerpt

I came home Wednesday night and plopped down onto my bed with the newspaper. My dog plopped down onto her blanket. No newspaper.

Three or four seconds went by and I knew.

We weren't alone.

I raised my head slightly and sat perfectly still, like the character in a horror movie who suddenly realizes he isn't alone, either.

I looked at my closet door. My bureau. My north-facing window. My east-facing window. And, finally, my ceiling.

What the HELL is that?

There, creeping along the ceiling, was a ... something.

A bug?

In January?

Where did this thing come from?

I sat up in my bed, squinted and squirmed.

Am I afraid of bugs? No, but I'm not crazy about them, either.

And this was a rather large bug. The kind that makes a noise when you smash it.

Within seconds, it flew across the room, before flying back to where it started.

Oy.

In flight, it was even bigger than I anticipated it would be. In fact, it looked a lot like the Bat Plane in "The Dark Knight Rises."

On a hunch, I yelled out "Hey!" and it actually turned around.

Did it hear me?

I hate bugs that can hear you.

Years ago, I was staying with a friend at his beautiful new house in Florida when I heard something walking across the rug.

Step. Step. Step.

I looked up and saw one of those giant Florida cockroaches walking toward my bed.

In Florida, though, they don't say "cockroaches." They say "palmetto bugs."

"I saw a cockroach in my room last night!"

"Oh? You mean a palmetto bug?"

"Uh ... yeah. Sure. Whatever."

When people use euphemisms like that, I tend to smile and shrug. The same way I smiled and shrugged last season when the chefs on "Chopped" got "lamb fries" in their ingredient baskets and didn't know they were cooking testicles.

When they finally learned what lamb fries were, the usually talkative chefs suddenly became quiet. I still refer to this as the silence of the lamb fries episode.

In my bedroom in Florida, when the palmetto continued walking toward me, I finally yelled, "Get out of here!"

And it did, turning around in its tracks and scampering off like a French poodle.

(Two nights later, I got up during the night to use the bathroom and saw two more of these monsters going at each other near the faucet like Mariah Carey and Nicki Minaj. …

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