It’s the uninvited guests that leave me bugging out
By Margaret Gates
Updated Feb 19, 2007 15:52
Yes, by some strange coincidence, even though our previous homes were on opposite ends of the county, we had both fallen in Gary’s territory many years ago.
Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal to most, but judging from our reaction, you would have thought we just discovered we had the same father.
Sure, Gary liked to chit-chat, we recalled. But he sure could kill bugs. And that’s all you’re really looking for in a bug man — or any man, for that matter.
Am I the only one whose husband can come home, discover one of his shoes in the bathtub and know exactly why it’s there?
Am I the only one who can say to her children, “You wouldn’t believe the awful thing that happened to me today,” and have them reply, “How big was the thousand-legger, mom?”
Let’s face it. None of us wants to call attention to ourselves with flailing arms, wild gyrations and high-pitched squealing. (Unless, of course, you’re the next contestant on “The Price is Right.”)
But some of us just aren’t “bug people.”
I don’t have a huge problem with bugs crawling around outdoors. In fact, I encourage our boys to respect their little lives and try not to harm our insect neighbors, because they have done nothing to harm us.
But once they come inside uninvited, it’s goodbye friendly neighbor, hello exterminator.
As far as I’m concerned, finding a thousand-legger in the bathtub at 4:30 in the morning is no different than finding a strange man in the bathtub at 4:30 in the morning.
They weren’t invited. They’re both going to make me scream. And they’re both getting a whack from the largest phone book in my arsenal. The only difference is I won’t be able to dispose of the man with a large wad of toilet paper.
And none of this taking a flimsy tissue, squeezing the bug between your fingers and then opening up the tissue to make sure you got it.
Eeeww!
No sir. You want to make sure you got it? Smack it with three pounds of Yellow Book. A jumbo bottle of laundry detergent will do nicely in a pinch, too.
Bees and wasps are a bit trickier. For those, I prefer to wait in the driveway for help to arrive. Of course, the last time I did that, “Help” decided to get a haircut after work and didn’t arrive home for an hour.
For spiders and such, my soccer-mom friend recommends a trash can lid or a heavy-duty flashlight, although the latter took a chunk out of the baseboard molding in her bedroom. (A small price to pay, we agreed.)
My weapon of choice is a Lancaster County phone book. We live in Lebanon County, where the Yellow Pages are really only suitable for smaller bugs, like ants or houseflies.
Of course, my real preference is to have someone else get rid of the bug.
In our old neighborhood, our friend across the street cheerfully came to my rescue when I’d find myself home alone with a bee. She’d simply come over, scoop the little fella up with a paper towel and release him outside.
Why, oh why, did we ever move?
I’ve been a little reluctant to approach our current neighbors about a similar arrangement.
They might think I’m strange.
Of course, what will they think of my flailing arms, wild gyrations and high-pitched squealing?
I’ll just tell them I’m auditioning for “The Price is Right.”
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The Voices column is written by a rotating team of New Era staffers, It appears Mondays,
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