For so long I've pretended I was good... I really wanted to believe that.
It turns out I'm selfish and bad. Rotten to the core.
Case in point.
Yesterday, I went to bed at my usual time these days, around 2:00 a.m (it is kind of relevant).
I set my glasses down on my bedside table, grabbed Harry Potter (yes, I'm a grown woman and I read Harry Potter. No, I don't think it makes me look cute. Yes, I enjoy the story. Now if I may proceed?) and started reading. My eyes, however challenged, spotted a blurry smudge on my ceiling. A big blurry smudge. On my ceiling. A big blurry smudge on my ceiling, not too far from right above my head, really.
Now, my eyes may be challenged, but I'm not a complete cretin yet. A big blurry smudge on my ceiling, when there was no big blurry smudge a couple hours before that, can only mean one of two things. Either there's a leak from the upstairs flat, which sounds very unlikely considering above my bedroom is another bedroom, or there's some sort of vile insect planning to take my life and use my body to advance insect science.
Keeping my unfocused eyes trained on the big blurry smudge, I blindly got my glasses back and, mustering all the courage I could er... muster, I looked. A huge grasshopper was doing aerobics on my ceiling. Huge. Enormous. Like, one inch long. That is a whole one inch more than what I can handle in a sane, adult, mature manner.
It was all I could do not to phone my dad and tell him to drive the 600 km to Paris to come and rescue me. (Yes, I know, I said it was the winged creatures of the invertebrate realm that did it for me, but really - jumping, flying, same difference, at this point.)
[Commercial break - is the suspense killing you?]
Having decided against phoning my parents, I started thinking. Well. Not so much thinking as blabbering inside my own head. (Oh, by the way. How do you cope??? Two minutes into hearing my own voice, and I was already annoyed. Dearie me, people, you'll never cease to amaze. Anyway.) By now, it was about 2:10. It was getting late, by normal people's standards. I thought I could handle this reasonably, and went to fetch some loo paper. My plan was: climb on the bed, stretch my arm, wipe the bastard against the ceiling, paint in the morning. Ha ha ha.
I do not reach the ceiling. In fact, even standing on three pillows, I still do not reach the ceiling. Save actually dislocating my shoulder, and using the now free arm as a pole, there was no way I was going to get the intruder. I remembered Adamant's advice from last time, and went to fetch the kitchen roll. The kitchen roll, I'm afraid, was nearly empty, and I could see pretty early on that I wasn't going to get anywhere with it. Plus, I didn't want to throw it repeatedly against the ceiling (I knew I was going to fail the first time, you see), for fear that one, the grasshopper would fall in my hair, and two, I would end up waking the neighbour.
I stood on the bed for a while, then, thinking oh what to do what to do. Which after a while turned into "No you can't." "Anne, you can't do that, it's late." "Anne, don't do it." "Anne, you cow, you're gonna do it, aren't you?"
And I went to get the hoover.
Bad, bad person.