Buggy

The other day my sister-in-law, Becky, told us of her life-long fascination with bugs. Her stories were very nice. Her timing is funny though, because for a couple days now I have been thinking of telling you about my own fascination with bugs. She and I couldn't think more differently on the subject. I will admit that bugs in their natural habitats are kind of interesting--as long as they stay at least two feet away from me. They must never touch me; and if only the bugs could understand, I'd like to make it very plain to them that I DO NOT LIKE THEM IN THE HOUSE! Not in my house, or in anyone else's house. I don't like the way they sneak up and catch you unawares, and scare the pants off you. I don't like the way the little ants clean up my kitchen floor (you'd think I'd appreciate that, but I don't). I look upon bugs with a disgust that amounts to absolute detestation!

Just for the record, I am quite sane.

Well, anyway, let me tell you about me and the water-bugs in Tennessee--the most bug-ridden state in the land of the free. Bruce and I and our little family lived in Tennessee for three-and-a-half years while Bruce went to school (a story for another time). And it was there that I was introduced to bugs I'd never imagined; the worst one to come into my personal space being the water-bug. (And let me tell you now, for the record, that people can give them cute names like "water-bug" but they are really just giant, ugly, disgusting cockroaches!)

Night of the Waterbug

The first time I ever saw a water-bug was on a dark and stormy night. Well, maybe it wasn't stormy. I'd just put the kids to bed and Bruce was out working, so I was alone in my kitchen, writing a letter home. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see this GIANT black thing creeping across my kitchen floor. It was the biggest roach I'd ever seen and it was heading toward me! (OK, up to that point it was the only live roach I'd ever seen--but it was in my house!) After squealing and jumping up onto the kitchen chair I realized that I had to do something or I'd be trapped, sitting on my table all night. So, gathering all my courage, I leaped past the monster into the laundry room where we kept the bug-spray on a shelf. I leaped past it again (so I'd have more space to make my getaway, if necessary), took aim and started spraying it. Well, all that did was make it mad. It ran toward me; I backed off, still spraying. I don't think I let go of the trigger for a good minute or two; there were clouds of bug spray in my kitchen and I could tell it would be me or the bug. Fortunately for me, the bug started getting a little confused. I was able to leap past it again and get a canning jar to clap over it. Unfortunately, to capture it I would have to get close enough to put the jar down over it. I summoned up all my courage and, standing as far away as possible, trapped my adversary in a glass prison. I left it there for Bruce to dispose of when he got home--no way was I going to get any closer to it than I already had!

After my horrid battle I had to open the kitchen windows. Then, to calm my nerves, I had to call all my relatives in Utah and tell them of my terrifying experience. I think they thought I was loony, and possibly over-reacting. I can tell you, that is simply because they've never come into close contact with a cockroach that is three to four inches long!

By the way, Bruce did not dispose of my foe. He saved it to show Michael (then about six years old). Michael named it "uglybug" (how appropriate). That bug lived in a jar in my home for another two days before they finally put it outside. I don't know why they didn't just flush it down the toilet!

That was water-bug story number one. Here's the second:

Attack of the Waterbug

One evening after a nice shower I was lying on my bed, bare-naked, air-drying and chatting with Bruce. (A side-note: it's nearly impossible for anything to really air-dry in Tennessee.) As we were talking my eye was drawn to the little breeze-way above our bathroom door. There was a water-bug up there and I could tell it was watching me. Bruce noticed the color leaving my face and followed my horrified gaze upward. Trying to soothe me, he said, "It's OK, it's clear up there." Ha! I could see that bug checking me out. I swear, it's little head was moving back and forth, looking me over and I knew it was going to fly down and land right in the middle of my back. Bruce said, "They don't fly." Ha!! Almost as soon as he said it the beastly thing took flight, aiming for the small of my back. Bruce, my hero, swung his arm like a baseball bat and hit it with his bare hand as I scrambled to make an escape. THOCK! It hit the wall. Did that kill it? I don't know, but we didn't see it again. It was a close call, but I survived it. I also made Bruce wash his hands.

Last story for the night; it was another lonely evening and I was sitting quietly in my kitchen, writing a letter to my family. (Have you noticed that these evil bugs wait until I am most vulnerable before they attack?) I will quote directly from the letter I wrote when it occurred:

Revenge of the Waterbug

"I just had near heart-failure a little while ago . . . I sat down at the kitchen table to work on some things. I sat here, very involved in what I was doing. and from the corner of my eye I see some movement. So I glance over and a giant roach (yeah, yeah--they call them water-bugs) is creeping out from under the table. It must have gone right by my bare toes! (At least it didnt go over my toes. After all, a roach is a roach. And this is a BIG one!) It got over toward the cabinets. Here's the layout: So I jump away and I'm trying to decide whether to trap it under a jar--which would be really scary--or spray it, which would be really gross (stinky). But I would have to go past it to get a jar, and it was moving pretty fast. So I sprayed it. Then it took off along the edge of the cabinet (away from me, thank goodness!) and disappeared into a little crack between the wall and the cabinet front--which put it right in my cabinets where I keep all my canned goods. And I'm thinking, "Bruce had better find that bug and kill it, or I'm never cooking for him again!" But at least I can rest easy and go back to work at the table (with my feet up), right? Ha! Just as I settle down, I hear this, 'click, click, click' of its feet in my cupboards. Then I hear it 'ping!' on the top of a can. 'Click,click, ping! click, ping! ping! click,click.' I shudder with each sound; violent shudders--the sound is coming toward me!" [I can't concentrate on my work. I cringe in terror, my eyes wide and my heart pounding. I am obsessed by the evil I hear coming closer and closer toward me.] "Finally it gets to my end of the cabinet. 'Scuffle, scuffle, click, ping! Scrape, scuffle, ping!' But at least it's trapped in the cabinet, right? Ha!! (Did I ever tell you this house is poorly built?) After a second, I hear a 'Thunk!' and there it is, about three feet from where this terror all started. Well, it is obviously not in as good health, so [I gathered my nerve and] I trapped it under a jar, where it is still giving me the shudders. (But it's Bruce's job to dispose of big, ugly bugs.) Then I went and looked under my countertop, and there's a big hole in the side of my cabinet where Beelzebub obviously reappeared from. This is why I will not live in Tennessee any longer than I have to."

Well, OK. Just one more story. As I was writing this, it occurred to me that I ought to include a picture of a water-bug. So I did a Google search. But when the screen full of bugs popped up I jumped away from the computer about three feet, shuddered, caught my breath . . . Yes, that's me. I had to reach my arm's length to click the mouse and get away from that screen. Find your own water-bug pictures!