There is a house centipede on the loose in our house right now. I believe this is the first time one has been spotted and escaped destruction on my watch, maybe in the whole 15 years of our marriage. My rule for spiders and house centipedes is that if one shows up in the house, no one sleeps until it is dead. Ask Jim about it sometime... the poor guy's got stories. But this morning, a critter (thankfully on the small side for centipedes) lumbered up by my shoe in the bathroom, causing Brynn to go three kinds of crazy. Her screams went supersonic as she did this prancy, freak-out-march with her feet, getting out of the bathroom as fast as possible. By the time I could understand her well enough to know there was "a bug," it had taken cover behind the toilet. I finally found him, but he managed to wedge himself under the baseboard and completely out of sight before I could do the deed. Frustrating. But not as much as knowing I would have to either let him live, or be late for preschool. Obviously, we went to school. (I'm not THAT bad.)
At this point, I have two concerns. One, Brynn may never sit on that toilet again, since she knows it did not die. Two, I know from experience when and where my little friend is going to show up again. It will be be in MY bathroom this time. And it will crawl out onto the shower wall while I am in there naked and vulnerable without glasses on. So not only will I have nothing to kill it with, but it will look like a tarantula to this blind lady. I have no choice but to plant one of Jim's sneakers in the bathroom next to a can of hairspray and wait for him to show up. I will be ready, and he will not get away this time.
I hope he shows his wriggly-legged self sometime today. If so, he's toast. Wish me luck.