Oh, and I flipped over a cockroach today--one that N'djema had played with and then abandoned to die on its back, futilely kicking its legs in the air. It probably still died, but I didn't help it to its death. This is amazing to me because I suffered from a very severe trauma when I was only two years old that left me with a profound disgust of roaches, and I never thought to see the day when the sight of them didn't affect me on a gut level.
I'm getting soft. Very soft. And the old, buried scars must be fading.
And wouldn't you know...I kid you not when I say that just as I was typing that, I felt a creepy crawling skittering over my toes. Don't you know I did a serious jig then. The culprit somehow ended up on my sarong when I kicked it off my foot, and I threw off the cloth of modesty in two seconds flat. A cockroach ran out from the rumpled folds. Ugh. But no, I didn't smash it. Smashing roaches is just plain gross.