chernobyl

my cat has fleas. which means, my house has fleas. which means, i get flea bites. luckily, i don't scratch them awkwardly like a dog does... at least, not in public. but, because my dad doesn't get bitten he's lazy about giving tiger his flea treatment. which means the fleas spread and every so often i wake up with new bites. which is pretty embarassing because, "i don't want to wear a skirt because i have fleas" is a poor excuse.

which means today was spent cleaning up the house, stripping bed sheets, etc. etc. and setting off flea bombs. which, for the record, are about the coolest thing ever. and not just because you can find them in a hardware store. what you do is you clean the room, removing all ignitants, and set some newspaper down, and we set a flat box down, too, to keep it elevated and so it wouldn't tip over on the carpet. it's a lot like an air freshner in that it's a solution in a high pressure can with a nozzle to let it out. So, you depress the clicker until it's secure, making sure it's always pointing away, put it down on the floor, and run like hell out of the room before shutting the door.

then, if you're me, you watch the flea bomb for a while pretending to hear little fleas crying out in pain at their imminent doom. or maybe they don't know it's coming. it's just a short scream of terror and the thought of death and the life beyond. or maybe it's just me making it all up. anyhow, in another two hours we can go back into the room. take body count, tally em up, and move to the next room. so cool. so murderous.