I Hate Bugs

We’re still in quarantine, and apparently, we’re doing it so well, the bugs have decided to join us.

 

I am not amused.

 

I hate bugs. Loathe them. But I’ve learned, with age and a lot of complaints from my parents and husband that I have to deal with them. So I’ve come to an agreement. They get the outside. I get the inside. If they must come inside, they get the unfinished side of the basement and I get the finished side. And when I’m outside, they stay away from me.

 

They listen to the agreement about as well as my children listen to the loading-the-dishwasher rules—even though my children are adults.

 

First we had the carpenter bees. I actually don’t mind them, since they eat wood, not people. However, I have a deck and they have started to burrow holes in it. At some point, the deck is going to collapse if they are left to their own housing initiatives, so I called the exterminator. 

 

Then we had carpenter ants. At first, they were outside, so, according to my rules, it was fine. But then they started coming inside. And the Princess found them. And my husband found them—despite his not caring about bugs, he’s not a fan of ants in his office. And I’m not a fan of the Princess’ screams. So I called the exterminator once again.

 

Before the exterminator could arrive, the cave cricket population exploded. They are my nemesis. Don’t know what they are? Picture large spiders who hop. Now, I’m sorry, there is no reason a spider needs to be able to hop, and there is no reason a cricket needs that many legs. We typically get them in the basement. They are the only bug my husband not only agrees to kill but has named. We call them “Herbies.” I think there was a reason why at one point, but I can’t remember. They’re so big, the bug vacuum my husband got me one year for Chanukah—early in our marriage before he improved his gift-giving capabilities (actually, he’s always been good at gift giving, and even he is allowed an occasional exception)—can’t suck them up. Well, these lovely creatures started coming upstairs. No. Freaking. Way.

 

So when the exterminator came, he saw them and told me he could get rid of them. I offered to marry him. He said he’d just include their deaths in our plan. Probably a better idea—monogamy and all that.

 

Well, he treated them, and apparently the cave crickets are rebelling. Because as they are getting ready to die, they stagger upstairs and hop in crazy directions, scaring the daylights out of some of us and even prompting the Princess to call me on the house phone, using her cell phone, from the kitchen, hiding up on the counter. Me, who is useless with these things. Although I’m better than Banana Girl who sympathizes with the bugs and wants to save them. Shudder. 

 

I’m counting the days until either the bug poison goes into full effect or I can call the exterminator back and yell at him.

 

He probably should have just accepted my marriage proposal.