I don’t like bugs in my house. I kill every one I see. No mercy.
No remorse. I don’t want them
crawling around, eating our food, or biting us. Outside, I don’t even step on an ant. Live and let live. Inside though, I am the “first responder” when
the bug siren starts wailing. I
immediately rush to the kitchen for a weapon.
If we’re out of the Sunday paper I just grab a paper towel. Well, not one paper towel. I grab four or five. I don’t want sticky yellow bug innards
soaking through a thin little paper towel and getting on my fingers. Yuk.
Also, if this invader is say, a really big spider or, god forbid, a big
ugly potato bug, I don’t want to take the chance that my poor aim will enable
this monster a chance to crawl up that one little towel to bite my hand, or
jump onto my head. I use 4 or 5 paper towels so he or she has
further to go to launch an effective attack.
This gives me more time to drop them and run. So I need a big wad.
People who study our food supply say that we inadvertently
consume about 2 pounds of insects every year.
Insects are generally not very big so just imagine how many you’ve eaten. I know you’re not eating all that many bugs on
purpose. I’m sure you are unaware of
them crawling into your gaping mouth while you’re asleep. You probably inhale quite a few every day on
your walk too. Insect eggs were probably
in your cereal this morning. It’s just
the way it is. Forget about it…………. if
you can.
Of course, many people around the world eat them on
purpose. In fact, there are about 1400
varieties worldwide that people look to for that extra bit of protein. They are not me though. I’ll just stick to my anti-biotic infused fecal
matter peppered good old pig belly and a couple of bird embryos… breakfast of
champions.
A few days ago, while brushing my teeth, I saw a tiny
reddish-orange flash out of the corner of my eye on the white tile next to the
sink. It was a spider. This little spider was only about 1/16th
of an inch in diameter counting its’ legs, which were too tiny to really
see. I snuffed it with one fluid and
deadly arm movement from the Kleenex box to the tile. We’re talking black-belt tissue expertise
here. He never saw it coming. Existence…over.
This death haunted me though over the next few days. What harm did this little guy ever do to
me? How big a bite could he take? His tiny jaws probably couldn’t puncture even
the mucous membrane in my nose let alone the skin on my arm or finger. If he could get his fangs into my skin,
surely his poison gland didn’t hold enough toxins to raise even a small welt on
my face. Heck, his world could only consist
of a few square inches. Surely I could have
spared him that amount of living space somewhere under my sink. I shouldn’t have killed him. It was cold-blooded murder.
This morning I saw his twin in the bathroom, or
wife/mother/uncle, whatever. He was
running around the raised lip of a lotion bottle. This tiny tiny reddish-orange being was going
around and around. And he was hauling
ass. I watched him for at least two
minutes. Around and around, where did he
think he was going? When would he
discover he was on a road to nowhere?
Finally he stopped and seemed to look down, perhaps feeling confused and bewildered. I watched him
for a few more seconds, then turned and walked away.
© Steve Stewart and See Next Rock, 2013
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