La vie en rose

Squish! And a poor French little roach went to the cockroaches heaven by my mom’s hands. Hands holding a flip-flop, of course. Obviously, the roach was killed because it was a French little roach. Little. Delicate. If it was big and had wings, maybe it would be still alive. Until my dad kill it…

Me: (huming La vie en rose) It was French. I guess it knew how to sing La vie en rose...

My sister: (also huming) And I guess it would open its wings this way to sing, look at me... (opening her arms)

My mom: (still angry because of the foreign roach) I wish it have sung a lot, because it won’t sing anymore.

Poor little roach. It just started its singer career and it die so young…