Bug Guy Day

Every time that little slip of paper comes shooting through the drop in my door alerting me that in less than twelve hours the bug guy will be in my apartment, I go into a bizarre cleaning frenzy. I clean my refrigerator. No kidding.

He judges me. I know it.

I do my laundry for the bug man. I'm convinced he will tell me my dirty towels attract pests.

I clean behind things. I arrange. I spray air freshener.

I hide the Bridget Jones type books that I'm really reading and put out Doris Kearns Goodwin, so that if he should catch me in my apartment again (hopefully I will not be in the shower this time) we would have something to discuss...

I bolted out of bed this morning at seven thirty, sure that I heard a knock on the door. No knock.I didn't dry my hair because I was afraid I wouldn't hear him knocking. I used cinnamon in my coffee so the apartment would smell good. I ran the dishwasher as I left so the kitchen would smell like like the ocean. That's what the soap I use smells like.

I don't understand why I get so worked up about bug day. It's just really weird having a stranger in your apartment, poking around your stuff, being in your life without being able to explain why you only have peanut butter and hummus in your kitchen. then I worry about Hamburger's state of mind--he thinks everyone who walks in the room is going to feed him...so young, so trusting...can a beta become obese? What if the bug guy lures him away with the promise of a bigger tank? I think it's just because my first day in the apartment was bug day, also known as 'bug-guy-in-my-apartment-yelling-at-me-from-my-kitchen-while-I'm-in-the-shower" day.

If I ever meet this guy face to face I don't know if I'll kiss him, punch him, or just ask him about the little ants in my bathtub...