(no subject)
I used to be fearless of bugs. I remember years ago, my brother and my cousin Mario were outside on the porch in my grandma's house when I saw them running, as if for dear life, back inside the house and closing the door. When I went to see what the commotion was about, it turned out that they were running from a flying bug. I don't know what those are called in English, but we called the "cocorrones" and they are these big, black, round flying bugs that buzz. So there they were, grown men, huddling behind the door, in utter fear of this bug. I told them I would go out there and kill it. Yes, you heard it right, I offered to duel this bug-o-death. Both my cousin and my brother thought I was crazy, and I seriously didn't understand why they were making such a big deal about it. So, armed with a cheap fly swatter, I ventured outside as my brother slammed the door behind me. I clearly remember looking back and seeing both their terrified faces peering back at me through the glass door. After swinging my arms a couple of times as the bug plunged towards me, I managed to force it out of the porch.
This was years ago. Somewhere down the line, my fear of roaches expanded to included MOST all bugs. I can muster the courage to kill them with our designated bug-killing-flip flop, and after a copious amount of yelling. But I just cannot bring myself to pick them up postmortem. I bring all this up because you can just imagine my shock, SHOCK I tell you, when I go to the kitchen downstairs and turn on the light to find a dead roach-looking-creature in the middle of the floor. I nearly had a heart attack. My mom and dad used to tell me that there was no point in being disgusted by roaches, because they probably crawled all over you in your sleep anyways. Just to think about that prospect makes me want to get the yellow pages out and look for therapists. So there the bugs sits, waiting for the brave soul who will find the paper towels and pick it up. But I gotta tell you, it's not going to be me.
This was years ago. Somewhere down the line, my fear of roaches expanded to included MOST all bugs. I can muster the courage to kill them with our designated bug-killing-flip flop, and after a copious amount of yelling. But I just cannot bring myself to pick them up postmortem. I bring all this up because you can just imagine my shock, SHOCK I tell you, when I go to the kitchen downstairs and turn on the light to find a dead roach-looking-creature in the middle of the floor. I nearly had a heart attack. My mom and dad used to tell me that there was no point in being disgusted by roaches, because they probably crawled all over you in your sleep anyways. Just to think about that prospect makes me want to get the yellow pages out and look for therapists. So there the bugs sits, waiting for the brave soul who will find the paper towels and pick it up. But I gotta tell you, it's not going to be me.