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“I can’t mow the lawn,” screamed 16-year-old me, “do you know how many bugs I will kill?!”
I was serious, I mean, it wasn’t just an attempt to avoid a new chore, I really never killed bugs. That is… until this week.
So what happens when I see a bug? Well I guess that depends on the situation. I’ve been known to jump into flash seizures, eeking out loud as I shake and spin myself into a nearby wall. Usually though, those frantic episodes are caused by a piece of my own hair grazing my skin and followed by a laughing fit at my irrational fear.
When I really discover a bug in my house I tend to just ignore it and let it do its thing. If it’s a spider bigger than my thumbnail though, it’s time to call in boyfriend backup for trap and release tactics.
Then there are my outdoor bug finds. An interesting bug, even a ::gulp:: spider, always gets my attention and if my camera is nearby you can expect to see me shimmying through the grass on my stomach for at least the next few hours.
Maybe I just watched Honey I Shrunk the Kids a few too many times, or maybe I had a valid moral obligation to let the little critters live, nevertheless, my save-the-yard-buggies protest was a failure and I had to mow the lawn that day. So yeah, I must have killed a few bugs, but I didn’t do it by choice and I didn’t actually see it happen, so it doesn’t count… right?
Earlier this week these little black bugs decided to take over my kitchen and shed their wings all over the floor. The boyfriend and I took turns sweeping the little bastards up and throwing them outside. It wasn’t long before things started to get out of hand and we turned to a harsher method of removal.
Now, as I stare at the tiny, black carcasses, I imagine what it was like for them. What would it be like to wade across a stream unaware of any danger. Halfway through I might pass a pale, bloated hand bobbing in the current. A foot here, an elbow there, a knee, and then there are bodies everywhere. Suddenly it’s harder to breathe and my insides are burning as the poison spreads.
I feel guilty – but it’s a guilty… pleasure. I really hate to admit it but it’s sickly satisfying to suck up their lifeless bodies into my vacuum, lay down another river of Raid, and wait.
Suddenly the girl who once claimed that mowing the lawn is immoral has become some sort of Hitler, capable of exterminating anyone that bothers her. As a sufferer of the human condition, I fully confess to being insane and hypocritical. Tell me you’re not.
