Ever since we moved to the DFW metroplex area, I’ve experienced an onslaught of creepy crawly creatures in my daily life. The first day we visited Sam’s school, the town had a grasshopper infestation and the school was full of them. These things were the size of tootsie rolls, and not the fun-size kind. I could barely walk outside, and I looked like I was picking my way across a minefield. So embarrassing.
I have a problem with bugs. Most girls do. Too many legs, not enough fluffy fur. I am especially terrified of flying bugs. I much prefer bugs to stay on the ground. Of course, statistics like those featured in this video by National Public Radio don’t put my mind at ease:
At any given moment, there are three billion bugs flying around in our atmosphere. I know what you’re thinking. “But Callie, that’s not so bad. There’s more than 3 billion people in the United States alone.” Oh, no. The three billion bugs applies to a .6 square mile column of land and atmosphere. So, if you drew out a .6 square mile on the earth and put up a 20,000 foot fence, within that fence would be 3 billion bugs.
Yeah, it’s gross, I know.
The number one flying bug I hate: moths. I find them absolutely terrifying in every single way. Have you ever seen a close-up of a moth? They want your soul on a plate. Sam loves to tell the story of the time I almost got us in a car wreck because I was screaming about a moth in the car. Imagine my horror at Friday night football games in small-town Texas, when the only light around for miles are the stadium lights:
Unlike most girls, I even hate butterflies. But, you know, I can respect bugs. When they’re outside, it’s their turf. I get it. They are God’s creatures and have their right to a place in the world. That place is not my house.
Our apartment has been under siege over the past few weeks. I don’t know if it’s the change of weather or if this is just normal for this area of the state, but I’ve been carrying this spray can with me everywhere:
One particularly horrifying morning involved waking up to see a couple of cookies Sam had left on the counter the night before walking away. A hoard of ants had taken over our apartment overnight, and they were all over our kitchen crawling in our sink and cabinets. I cried. It was so scary. I can never again watch “A Bug’s Life” and root for the ants (but I can’t root for the grasshoppers, either… hmm…). You can view the extremely disturbing picture here.
I’ve battled hornets the size of Hot Wheels cars. I attacked a dime-sized spider who retreated into the depths of Sam’s Xbox. But, when I don’t have my spray, I am a damsel in distress and Sam is my knight in shining armor, prepared to smash crickets (the crickets here have wings and can fly… they go straight for the face), destroy roaches, and crush flies like the warrior he is.
Now, if a hoard of pandas was invading my house, that would be amazing. Hoards of bugs, not so much.
That is why I feel compelled to write a letter to the makers of Cracker Jack. Last night at the football game, Sam gave a bag of Cracker Jack to snack on, and of course I went straight for the prize:
Oh, bitter irony. They gave me a pencil topper with ants crawling on it.
So, beware all you creepy crawlies out there. I am armed.
Beware, man-killing bugs. I have a bug-killing man.