My first cockroach.

The most accurate way to describe my encounter is "Civilized, yet disturbing." Civilized because I was in one of my favorite, exclusive stores in New York. Disturbing because I was in one of my favorite, exclusive stores in New York. I had just tried on a tempting Yves Saint Laurent dress when I decided it would be best not to tempt a Urinary Tract Infection. So I excused myself and went to the restroom. That's where I met C Roach.

My brown eyes locked with C Roach's large compound eyes. As C Roach dared me to pull down my Gold & Sign denim a list of very important questions came to mind: How many of them were there? Would they ambush me when I was in an exposed state? Was Lieutenant Ellen Ripley silently crouching on a toilet just waiting to rescue me? I tried to convince C Roach to come with me to the fitting room and slip into the pocket of a Chanel jacket. I would scream. My personal shopper would be mortified, and, like in any great restaurant he would fall all over himself apologizing and insist the soup is on the house. C Roach just kept clicking his claws. Clearly C is on commission.