What's Bugging Me Today

This morning I woke up at 6 a.m., turned on the news and sat in the living room chair, waiting for consciousness to kick in.  This is my daily routine.  This morning, however, while I was staring off into space waiting to care, I spotted a thousand-legger scurrying across the carpet.  Now… I like to name the insects I encounter, because it makes me feel guilty after I bludgeon them to death with the heel of my shoe.  I could have chased Bob down if I had been 20 years younger and my legs weren’t still sleep-frozen. Or, Miss Kitty could have pursued a new toy if she weren’t 15 years old and no longer giving a shit about anything except sleeping in the sun and mooching food off my plate.   So, without conflict, Bob darted behind the sofa and hopefully, if he knew what was good for him, committed suicide.  

Having lived in other parts of the country, I’ve come to realize not everybody gets to enjoy the company of these rotten little centipedes, so I’ve included a photo.

"Hi, I'm Bob!"

Isn’t he cute?  Now, I realize centipedes are supposed to be our friends, because they eat loads of other disgusting things, like spiders (who are all secretly plotting to kill me, by the way), flies, ants, and other assorted vermin.  But they’re nicknamed  “thousand-leggers” for a reason … they’ve got all those skinny legs flailing around, they climb on anything, and they mindlessly run around without really caring if they’re heading out the door or up my pant leg. The only thing worse than smashing Bob with a shoe (which then involves hauling out the Shop-Vac) is drenching him with something sticky. The Aussie Instant Freeze I use on my hair is effective, but then poor Bob has to slink off into the Insect Afterlife while leaving several of his stuck-to-the-floor, ghoulishly detached legs behind him.  It’s as gross as it sounds. 

For me, bugs have always been lumped into four categories: pretty bugs (like butterflies and lightning bugs), annoying bugs (like houseflies and certain unnamed male relatives), icky bugs (centipedes, bed bugs, mantises … mantii?  What’s the plural? Do you know? Do I care?) and bugs that are secretly out to kill me (spiders and anything from the bee/wasp/hornet family). 

I know I’m not alone.  Maybe you hate Bob as much as I do.  Maybe you’re sitting out there trying not to feel like something’s crawling up your back. (Oh stop ... there's nothing there.  Really.)

When I used to be an apartment dweller, it wasn’t too bad … well, okay, I’m lying, the balconies at Shoregate Towers used to be a haven for spiders.  I’m not sure if it was because the buildings were so close to Lake Erie, but I never once sat on my balcony.  My brother – who has been bitten by poisonous ants, snakes and spiders several times in his life (he made it, but I understand they all died) – would sit out there, smoke, and see how many spiders he could kill using his hand.  This was his idea of Saturday night fun.  Me, I can’t even squish one with a tissue because I’m convinced it could somehow crawl out of my grasp and kill me.

I’m not sure where the fear of bugs started.  I’ve had spider-infested nightmares ever since I was bitten as an infant, so that might be part of it.  Or maybe stepping on a bee when I was four and spending that 4^th of July watching fireworks with my foot taped up has stayed with me too long.  Oh, and then there was the time a bee stung my back while I was on the freeway driving home from work several years ago. I think, however, the worst influence had to be a horrible Saturday morning TV show I watched while growing up in the 70s.  Anybody remember this Sid & Marty Krofft classic?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bugaloos

It had these goofy people dressed up in puffy, Technicolor bug costumes complete with antennae and wings. I still remember parts of the theme song … It went something like:

“The Bugaloos!

The Bugaloos!

They’re in the air and everywhere!

On the loose …

Out of sight …

In your hair …”

(That might not be exactly right, but that’s kinda how I remember it).

I put it to you … who wouldn’t be screwed up after that kind of programming? 

Living in a house these past two years hasn’t made things much easier.  For some reason, spiders just love me.  They spin webs all over my car (even after I’ve had it washed and detailed) and the overhead beams in the basement are infested with them.  I’ve called exterminators, but then the spiders just temporarily move out to the garage where they hold block parties and laugh at my idiocy.  I always imagine a scene similar to the one from the Hitchcock angry bird move, where all the spiders are just spinning their webs and plotting my destruction.  “Okay, Lois … so…you know the plan for today? You’re going to drop on her head when she comes in for the birdseed while Richard jumps on her hand and tries to kill her.”

Still … it could be worse.  I used to live in Florida where, let’s face it, every day was like Jurassic Park.  Alligators crossed the street, flying cockroaches dive-bombed our picnics and I spent the entire time I was there watching the ground when I walked, because Death By Fire Ant wasn't as uncommon as it damn well ought to have been.  At least in Ohio a person can walk barefoot in the grass, and there's something disturbing about a world where you can't do that.