The gecko who lives in my bathroom is dead. I accidentally stepped on it...and will try to stop shuddering long enough to share the details...
A day or two after we moved into the new house, a gecko charged RIGHT AT ME in the tee-tiny bathroom and made me pee in my pants. It was horrible...like a disembodied pinkie finger running across the 1950s linoleum! After that, I learned not to wait until the last minute and to turn on the light and tap my foot around a lot to let him know I was coming in. Never a big one for going barefoot (against my dad's rules when we were little growing up in freezing cold New Hampshire!), I haven't gone barefoot EVER since the gecko made his presence known.
I wear shoes in the shower. I keep sandals by my bed for my many nocturnal trips to the bathroom, even though the potty is only five feet from my pillow.
Well, my diligence paid off because on one of last night's sojourns (and there were more than usual, thanks to two glasses of post-wedding rehearsal Lambrusco), I must have stepped on the Restroom Reptile. When I flipped on the light this morning, I was greeted by a flattened lizard whose insides were now on the outside.
Only Falisha, who shares my PHOBIA about lizards and would rather stand in a bucket of bugs than have a lizard on her, will understand the simultaneous (and equal amounts of) disgust and relief that washed over me after the Initial Full-Body Gross-Out.
Bethany, and all other normal family members who have a rational understanding of lizards, will be proud that I overcame my loathing and repulsion to gather the poor wafer-thin creature and its internal organs and give them a watery send-off to Gecko Heaven...and flushed three times, for good measure.
Heading to Red Bud Park, even though I'm sick and can barely swallow,
The Gecko Killer