I thought the gold medal revelation of the year was going to be that I was now most probably, yes definitely, lactose-intolerant. I couldn't imagine anything worse. That is until the beetles invasion.
The cheese says goodbye, the spruce bug says hello. I am inconsolable on both counts.
To stress the enormity of my hatred/fear of bugs - and I mean all of them don't come at me with that what about the butterflies nonsense - I have had to scroll back through my memories with them for the sake of this post, and it has made me itch all over from the power of suggestion.
Remembering every indoor spider I have stomped
…but not without first styling it into oblivion with hairspray.
I had to think about the fat tick I once had attached to my ribs and how I fainted against the cistern during the removal process. The way I would sprint from my car into my grandmother's house during fish-fly season. The way I still flail upon seeing a wasp in any setting. How I blanched when I heard about murder hornets. How I can never stop jumping out of my skin every time someone says “There's something on your arm” because it forever slips my mind that I have a birthmark about the size and shape of a ladybug.
Karmic justice, being comedic in nature, means I HAVE A BUG-SHAPED BIRTHMARK.
It's an exhausting phobia to have. There is a lot of running, and there are a lot of stories. Spoiler - I don't look good in any of them. I don't remember my first encounter with a bug, the one that may have cemented this disgust for life, though my Dad tells me I once screamed at a mosquito on my arm. I didn't ask him what age that might have been for fear I was older than four. The acceptable age window to be screaming at mosquitoes is quite small. So there is no traumatic moment crystallized in my memory that I can recall where that loathing suddenly came online with contact, but I have a wealth of interactions with them and each and every one has only served to compound the wish that I had an invisible shield around me like a porch bug-zapper. I want to hear that whip-crack sound when they try to come near me. I want to see the tiny puff of smoke that signals instant death. I want my pupils to dilate with delight every time it happens.
Absolutely demented, but maybe you'll forgive some, if not all, of my bloodlust by the end of this post. Maybe you'll just call me a big chicken-baby, and I lack support to argue against that assessment. Here are two stories out of the thousands of wee beastie battles and close encounters that I wish I could forget, but definitely where I am the victim. If only by naivete.
At a lakeside family picnic, I wandered over to an embankment to sit down with my single serve sundae, the one with the wooden paddle-spoon on the inside lid, to enjoy my treat alone on a Fall day and watch the waves on the water. It must have been Fall because I had tights on instead of bare legs, a fact I'll be grateful for later. My parents didn't have to worry that I wandered off on my own and that I would tumble down the embankment as it was only a matter of a few feet to the sand. They should have worried I might sit on an anthill.
Because that's what I did.
When you're having a lousy day, remember that it could be worse. You could be quickly disrobed, except for your tights, in front of a picnic table full of your family members while your Mom slaps and brushes extremely angry ants off your body. And then have no edible sundae left to show for it.
I might be betraying my Canadian heritage (and offending the tourism board) by saying that camping isn't fun. Why anyone goes willingly to where the bugs live, and then squat there for days at a time, I may never understand. Nothing is less conducive to a good night’s sleep than a high whine near your ear every few minutes. The only thing that ever made camping trips bearable was bestie and her family. Her dad got a big kick out of my muppet-like running away from all bugs, and continued to bring it up and laugh about it every time I saw him as an adult. I enjoy being a pain in the ass child even less than camping. On one trip to the lake, my friend and I were told that if we were going to swim we should avoid the area where the big black pipe was. This being a clear Ontarian lake, that pipe was easily visible as it stretched way out into the distant water, much farther out than we were allowed to go. It was rumored to be covered in leeches, but impossible to see against that dull murky black. In hindsight I suspect this was some urban legend teen deterrent, or just a way to frighten us into staying visible within the buoys. I was young so I fully took that on board as gospel. Avoid Leech Pipe. LEECH PIPE BAD. Floating around on my inner tube, daydreaming and watching the clouds, I didn't notice how far I was floating away. I drifted right over to Leech Pipe and was hovering over it. Frantic, when I realized where I was, I yelled (screeched) for bestie miles away to come rescue me, and she flatly refused with a “What! Are you crazy?! Just swim back!”
It took everything I had to put any part of my body (I was now trying to balance like a hissing cat on a large inflatable donut, if you need a visual) back into the water to paddle away from the pipe in a full out panic. Do you know what attracts leeches? Splashing. I was ringing the damn dinner bell. Somehow I didn't pick up anything along the way, except a grudge against my ride or die, though I would have done exactly the same thing in her place, let's be real.
I think I would be a shell of a person today if I had acquired a slimy hitchhiker that day. Some nights, when I wake up in a cold sweat, I shouldn't be too quick to blame peri-menopause. It may be just forty year old delayed processing to the near-leech experience.
(Photo must have been taken before the great betrayal)
It occurred to me, while thinking back on every insect intrusion, that they happen precisely when I am perfectly at peace. Finding shapes in the clouds or lost in admiration of the world, something will come along to sting me out of my reverie. A contented sigh is a physical cue to be bombarded by things with too many eyes or too many legs. I am never truly alone and nature is cruel.
Which brings me to my present day insect woes- the Spruce Bugs. Also known as Pine Sawyers, Pine Jacks, Lumberjacks, Wood Borers, Musketeegum, and Bark Beetles. It varies from province to province. What doesn't is their description - Large, flying, aggressive, and will take a sizeable chunk out of your flesh. Wonderful news for the bug hater and magnet. The phobia wasn't bad enough but there is something about me that they like. Something they know. For they come for me, on wings or speedy little legs. My monkey musk of fear must be intoxicating to them, for they waggle their extremely long feelers at me. This past Sunday one of them flew quite deliberately at me. I watched it as it rose slowly up into the air like a helicopter and came toward me at chest level. Right at my heart. I bolted, naturally, and it followed, naturally, but the husband got to it with the zap racket just before it could land on me. He just stood there for a contemplative moment, looking at the dead beetle while I tried to regulate my breathing.
Husband - “That was weeeird. That was like, personal. I’ve never seen that. Like it was waiting for you to come outside.’
Me - “I KNOW.’
So my outdoor space is making me too nervous to enjoy it very much. I won't be spending lengthy amounts of time out there until I see the neighborhood grackles have grown fat and happy by taking care of the problem. They are far more efficient than me and my zap racket. I am Team Grackle. I don’t know how much I might be exaggerating when I say that I would choose a Promethean sentence of having my liver pecked out by birds daily over having one of these horrible beetles latch onto me one single time. I will cautiously head back out there at some point, angry and resentful that something so small could dictate how I spend my time. I'll have my iced beverage, an attitude, and a book with me.
But a good heavy one.
Whomp whomp, bitches.
Movie Rec - 3000 Years of Longing
Music Rec - The Bug Collector - Haley Heynderickx
LMAO @ "the great betrayal". Also, where did you find that picture? I don't even have a copy of that!