While drying off after my shower this morning, I caught a movement in the bathtub. My seeing anything is a big deal; without contact lenses or glasses only the first six inches of the world around me is in focus. I grabbed the glasses and took a closer look.

Apparently, I shared my shower this morning with a two inch long centipede.

Several possible courses of action presented themselves:

1. Scream, and hope that the scream drove the thing down the drain, through a crack or otherwise out of my sight. Discarded this option - I'm not a screamer by nature, and at the time I thought the landlords were home and asleep upstairs. While I can't get them to respond to a plumbing emergency, it would be my luck that they would come running just this once.

2. Turn on the faucet and try to flush the bugger down the drain. But drowning a centipede is a tricky business; they don't always die. I'd wonder for the next few days if I had indeed killed it, or if he and an army of his buddies were planning a midnight excursion to punish me for my attempted pede-icide.

3. Grab a wad of toilet paper and squish the little intruder. It would have to be a big wad, as the day started out bad enough without the addition of centipede juice on my hands.

Without taking my eyes from my insect friend, I reached for the toilet paper - fortunately, an almost full roll. Moving slowly, willing the centipede to stay in one place, I moved to the tub.

Splat.

Got it in one.

There are distinct advantages to living alone; having to squish your own bugs is not one of them. While it may seem I'm cool under pressure - just doing what needs to be done - it is afterwards that I run the mental movie compulsively, freaking out after the fact. I'm going to go sit in my corner now and rock, thank you.