Young Female Seeking Bug-Killer

"I need you to kill it for me," I moaned.

"No."

"Miiiiike.  You're the worst husband ever!"

"Heather, I am not going to come home from work to kill a bug," Mike said.  "Get a shoe, okay"  I imagined him sitting at his desk, his forehead sunk into his palm as his fingers rubbed his temples.

"What kind?" I asked anxiously.  "I'll grab the biggest one I can--"

"Probably a flip--"

"It's moving!"

"Listen to me--"  He asked if the bug had a lot of legs, if it was hairy, if it had two long antennas.

"I am going to throw up," I declared.  Then, I had an idea.  "I can't reach it.  It's in the back of the closet above our crates.  You have to come home and use your stool."

"Why can't you use--?"

"Okay, but I need you to stay on the phone," I demanded, and I proceeding to narrate to him as I went to the kitchen, found the stool I teased him about buying, returned to the bedroom, prayed the bug hadn't moved, and set the stool into position.  "Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Okay, okay, okay."  I teetered on top of the stool, found the largest shoe I could find--"Your nice brown ones"--and reached slowly for the biggest bug I've ever seen.  Suddenly:  "I can't!  I can't!  I can't!"  I hopped off the stool and onto our bed.  This happened two or three or five times.

Finally, I smacked it.  And then it ran.  And it ran and ran and ran throughout the sweaters until I lost it.  I yanked out each one and shook it madly, keeping Mike updated by yelling into the phone I'd set down.

"Will it stay attached to sweaters?" I asked breathlessly into the phone.

"No, I don't think so."

"Are they solitary creatures?" 

"Um...."

"Mike!"

Well, the bug was lost.  I told Mike I'd let him go, and he reminded me ominously that they were very active at night, and I better find it.  I told him that he wasn't the worst husband after all and that I was sorry.  

Still, his words haunted me just like they were supposed to, and I kept looking.  I shook things around in the closet, and, sure enough, it shot out from a corner and started for the opposite side of the closet:  MY side.

"No!" I shouted, but it kept going at lightning speed.  I smacked ahead of it with the shoe, but it kept running.  In a burst of brillance, I took the flashlight and shot it right on the creature, and it froze.  "HA!"  It shot the other way, back to Mike's side.  Whew.  But I kept after it.  

Uh oh.  It was started to round the corner towards where I was, and I knew that never, ever, ever in a million years would I smack at it while under it.  My instincts kicked in.  I HAD to protect all those pairs of Mike's Express jeans, and I smacked.  I smacked and smacked and, when I thought I got it, I pressed and held it.  I heard terrible things.

But it was dead.

I had succeeded.

I am woman.  Hear me roar (and whine to my husband all needy-like on the phone).