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I hate bugs. I know that bugs are part of God's creation and we really ought not hate any living creature. I know that bugs play a vital role in our ecosystem and I know that they were here first and we're the trespassers. I know all that. But I still hate bugs. It's not fear...I'm not afraid of bugs any more than I'm afraid of vomit or dog turds. Still, just like vomit and dog turds, I've no desire to have them in my home or on my person. I think this hatred dates back to the Awful Pumpkin Pie Experience of my childhood. My mother baked a pumpkin pie, my absolute favourite (at the time...rhubarb has supplanted it, but nobody bakes rhubarb pies any more) and she left it on the counter to cool overnight. The next morning I woke up, rushed to the kitchen for some breakfast pie...and stopped dead. The pie was a moving mass of black. Ants had found it, crawled all over it, and tunnelled into it. It was the second most horrific insect moment of my life, and it began my long and storied war against bugs in general and ants in particular. I say second most horrific. Yesterday I had the most horrific experience. I went into the living room to pet Sybil, a.k.a. the Rev. Colonel Sybil "Brown Cat Joe" McButtons. He was sleeping away in a patch of sunlight, and thus less ubiquitous than he normally is. After paying my respects I stood up and looked at the window. There were two or three flies standing on the glass. This is no big deal...flies make their way inside now and again. A couple swats and that's the end of it. Then I noticed a couple more flies on the frame of the window. Then a handful more on the window sill. Then a half dozen around the edge of the window. Then more on the wall and ceiling. It was like a horror movie, where the camera starts focused in and then slowly pulls back to reveal that the hero is surrounded by monsters. The entire corner of the room, where the sun is brightest, was covered in flies. Did I mention that I hate bugs? See, this is why. There were two copies of a local weekly paper on the floor. I folded one in half and brandished it like a club. One, two! One, two! And through and through, The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! Flies were coming out of the woodwork and dying much deserved deaths. As soon as the assault began the six-legged monsters scattered and the battle became a hunt. I don't know how many fell in that first hour of carnage, but soon the enemy was too dispersed to wage an effective campaign. I settled in to wait, and within an hour my patience had been rewarded - the enemy had regrouped, drawn to the window like...well...like flies to a window. Again I wreaked deadly havoc and again my opponent scattered. And then, as I vacuumed up the corpses between skirmishes, I had an inspiration. The vacuum! Flies can't find their way out through an open barn door. There's no way they could escape the machinations of a Hoover! (or Bissell or Eureka or whatever I have) I aimed the hose skyward and began a series of dogfights with the expert acrobatic flies. They dove, the veered, they zigged and zagged, but the vacuum was too much for them. One by one they fell to its awesome power, and in its belly they remain. The battle is won, the enemy is vanquished and the free apartment is safe for mammals! Boo-HA-HA! |
