The other night I was roused out of a dead sleep by a thumb-sized waterbug/cockroach walking around my neck and onto my ear. I flung him onto the ground, completely skeeved out, and sat there dazed and spectacle-less, in the dark, trying to find him so I could squish his ample guts out. I couldn't find him. I could HEAR him, though, scrabbling around on the ground, planning his next ear invasion. Erin woke up and asked me what the sam-hill I was doing. I told her, calmly, what happened, and that I was looking but I couldn't find him. Finally, we decided that he had gone off to seek greener pastures (old Mrs. Crustybritches downstairs, with the giant growth on her tongue, perhaps?). We tried to go back to sleep but a short while later La Cucaracha woke me up by walking around on my toes. I got the willies pretty bad, shrieked like a little girl and kicked him off me and onto the floor. Eyuck. We finally tracked down the little bastard and I smooshed him. I smooshed him real good. We don't normally get roaches. A little teeny one very occasionally, fewer than just about any apartment I have ever lived in. This guy was obviously a rogue. A fluke. A loner. Denial is not just a river in egypt.