Nothing bugs her like insects appearing inconveniently
Every time I enter a bathroom, I do a bug check. This isn’t because I’m a foreign spy, though if I was, why would I tell you?
No, it’s to see if there are any insects that can crawl, fly or spring upon me unawares.
There was a nasty time when I looked down for the shampoo bottle and saw a wasp crawling up the side of it.
Burt’s Bees All-Natural, indeed.
There is a certified procedure for dealing with insects in the shower. I follow it religiously:
1. Scream like a banshee.
2. Attempt to leap out of the shower.
3. After banging your head like an idiot, slide open the door to the shower.
4. Sprint like you’re at a track meet, but don’t forget to …
5. See step 1.
Usually this succeeds in summoning my dad. He deals with the offending critter in a calm, mature fashion while I provide color commentary in the form of nervous whistling.
Not that you should summon my dad when you have insect troubles. Get your own.
Dads are practically standard issue at your local Bass Pro Shops. You can snare one with a six-pack of Miller and an acoustic guitar.
But back to bugs. Insects, I have heard, are necessary for Earth’s survival.
They contribute to something called the food web.
Everyone’s connected, so with just a hop, skip and a jump, StinkBug287389 can click to his aunt Sheila’s profile and “like” her 6,000 new babies.
Beware if your phone buzzes.
The food web is also where insects discuss where to find the best dinners.
Popular locations include outside a doghouse, the side of the road after a deer collision and Olive Garden.
According to the eminent scientific minds of our time, like Professor Wikipedia, potentially over 90% of the animal life that forms on Earth are insects. That doesn’t even count congressmen.
Imagine turning to your faithful dog and scratching lovingly behind its ear, only to pull off a mask and discover it’s really a giant centipede.
Or finding out that the constant annoying whine in your ear isn’t your spouse, but a massive mosquito. I’m not sure which would be worse.
I’ve heard the advice that if you want to stop being afraid of something, you need to learn more about it.
I’m not sure this works, considering I took two semesters of calculus in college and my heart rate still goes up every time I calculate the tip at a restaurant.
But I’m willing to try. You don’t get a reputation for being an absolute coward without earning it.
As part of my deep dive into the world of insects, I turned to the movies.
You know that classic scene in the 1999 film “The Mummy,” where a flesh-eating scarab crawls classically beneath a guy’s skin?
That scene made 11-yearold me panic every time
I got a mosquito bite. Yet if we believe the entomologists, or as the Brits call them, buggers, flesh-eating scarabs don’t exist.
But you know what does? Carnivorous bees. You’re welcome.
I’m more of a fan of carnivores. Unlike insects, most carnivores are cuddly, at least for the few seconds before they use their teeth.
Plus, they make for great documentaries.
Instead of watching any old insect perch on a branch for six hours, you can watch a majestic lion loll on the plains for six hours.
Sometimes the lions even yawn.
The only bugs I appreciate are the ones in computers.
If I ever get up from my desk and manage to do something mildly productive, like walk to the fridge, it generally forces enough electricity through my brain to remind me that I have a job.
This job technically involves fixing said bugs. Though fixing is a strong word, because what I usually do is nod at the screen and move semicolons around. And you say coding is hard.
After spending a long, productive day convincing my boss that it is critically important that we change the color of a login button from cyan to cerulean, it’s time to relax. I can at last saunter home, take a hot shower, and AIEEEEEEE! BANG!