Don't Get Cocky With Me, Mister

Honey had to work Saturday, so by the time I woke up shortly after 7 a.m. he was long gone. I shuffled into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, took a spoon out of the drawer and stirred in a splash of non-fat dairy creamer and two Splendas. Then I sat down, read the paper and sipped my coffee.

The phone rang just as I was preparing to pour a second cup. It was Honey.

"Hey," he said. "I'm going to stop by Lowe's tonight for some bait and some spray. I found a cockroach in the kitchen this morning."

"AAAAACCCCCKKKKK!!!!!!" I replied. "That's disgusting. Where did you find it?"

Well, blogosphere friends, you probably know where this is heading, right?

Here's his answer: "In the silverware drawer."

OMG, I thought. I drank cockroach poo, or at minimum ingested whatever diseases it was carrying on the bottom of its vile little feet.

Two options came to mind:

A. Vomit

B. Scrub the kitchen until it's so clean that any self-respecting cockroach would leave.

I chose B.

Opened pantry staples were tossed. Every piece of silverware, every dish, every pot, every pan, every, well, every everything was washed. Every surface in every drawer and every cabinet was wiped clean. Then it was all put back together.

Oh, and this has nothing to do with anything but along the way I discovered that in my pantry were five bottles of vanilla; three containers each of baking soda, pumpkin pie spice and powdered sugar; seven envelopes of taco seasoning; and four sets of food coloring.

The scrub-fest was followed by a trip here, where I loaded up a cart with $73.92 worth of impermeable food storage containers.

This is what the pantry looks like now (she said with pride):