The worlds largest fucking roach just flew in from the window, right past my face and then stared at me from the wall for about 10 hours. Or 10 seconds... because I immediately screamed like a little bitch, dropped the phone, and ran as fast as humanly possible, while, when scared, is pretty damn fast.

My mom had to come and rescue me from my fate, which made me think about something.

In the future, when I have little Ashley Jr. 1 and Ashley Jr. 2, what in the hell am I going to do when they call me to come and kill the largest roach in humanity that just flew into their room? I'm sure as hell not going to be the one to kill it. I'll the the one running away first. And lord knows, I'm probably not going to have a clue in the world as to where the father is. Let's be real. They're both named Ashley!

I feel so bad for my mom now, considering the fact that I'm almost 22 years of age and still asking her to "KILL IT, MOM, KILL IT!" I fear this is something that I just may never grow out of. Even after I have children, sorry to say. My kids are just going to have to learn to grow up really fast and do shit for themselves, because I'm going to be a useless parent.