I might have taught my kids my fear of bugs. I’ve tried hard not to, but even I’m starting to believe in my lack of success.
While at dinner with friends Friday night, I texted my girls to find out why they were still home—they were supposed to be going out to dinner with my parents, but my stalker app said they were at our house. The Princess texted that they had a “bit of an issue in regard to a very large spider.”
I started to laugh.
She told me it was dead and flushed.
I told her I was proud of her.
She then informed me my dad came over and killed it.
He came over to my house, killed the spider, went back to his own house and waited for my girls to follow him so they could go to dinner.
I will be the first to admit I’ve called my father over to my house to kill a bug. As an adult. In fact, about three years ago. Usually because my husband refuses to leave work to do it, and my dad is retired. So the fact he came over to do this doesn’t surprise me nearly as much as it should. Even he admits it was big.
The part that does surprise me is the killing part.
When I called him to come over, it was to kill a cicada. It was on the window on the INSIDE of my house. As in, sharing space with me. I cried. He came over.
But he didn’t kill it. He placed it back outside and let it go back on its merry way, meaning if it managed to find its way inside the first time, it was now free to do so again.
He let it live.
A cicada is also known as a locust, as in one of the ten plagues of Egypt THAT CONVINCED THE PHAROAH TO LET THE HEBREWS LEAVE EGYPT!!!! Their presence was enough to get rid of an entire labor force.
But he let it live. It can now breed other locusts able to make their way into my house.
So as you’re sitting around your Passover seder this year, think about that.
And if you need bugs killed, call my dad. Unless it’s a cicada.