A Mommy Story

I’ve always considered myself a bit of a tomboy. But one area I’ve never been boyish about is bugs. Bugs creep me out, with spiders ranking even higher on the “make me shriek and run” scale.

As long as the bugs stay outside, with no chance of getting into my house to put their little poisoned buggy feet on my food or carry out their sinister plan of walking across my face while I sleep (because their evil little buggy brains know that I can’t prove it but also can’t disprove it and so will obsess in an unhealthy way until my head explodes), then we’re fine and our truce continues. Any bug I find in my house is at risk of dying by the shoe, if I can’t find some way to get it outside without having to touch it or get too close.

And then this knocked (well, buzzed really) on my front door:

For those not well-versed in bug species, that is the biggest freakin’ praying mantis I’ve ever seen in my life. It was easily half a foot long, staring at me with it’s beady eyes, daring me to try to come outside. When I moved, I could see it’s freakish head turning to watch me, plotting what it could do were I to get too close.

I didn’t go outside for the remainder of the evening.

This round goes to you, bug.