What's buggin' me!

My Olivia cannot get enough of creepy crawly creatures. She collects rubber bugs. Searches for insects in the grass with a talking magnifying glass. Even studies dead bugs (don't get me started on the dragonfly carcass we once kept in our garage for weeks, or the tarantula sized garden spiders she "oooooh"ed and "aaaaah"ed over at our old house.) She has allowed a real tarantula to crawl on the front of her dress and immensely enjoyed holding a legless lizard. And she was near tears when she wasn't selected to hold the hissing cockroach or the giant scorpion. As if!

I can tell you she did not get this passion from moi. NO! Carl can tell you about the time we were driving along and a bee flew into our car. I was hysterical as it buzzed around my calves, screaming crescendo style, "Stop. StoP. StOP. STOP! ST-OOOOOOOOO-P!!!" while Carl saw no urgent reason to pull over and let me out of the car. I'm still considering therapy for that incident, ten years after it occurred. And Mr. Smarty Pants my dear husband still laughs heartily at the mere mention of that day.

There was the time I nearly lost my lunch because a horsefly hit Carl in the forehead and lay dying on his lap as we drove along a country road. I was so sickened by the sight of it that I couldn't tell him what I knew until he pulled over and I got out of the car. Why did *I* have to get out of the car? Well, I feared that if I told him, he might glance down to his lap, creep out and FLING the ugly beast my way (in which case his rusty CPR skills might have needed a quick polishing).

And perhaps the most hysterical bug incident might have been the time I walked in from the garage and began to chat with Carl, who was holding sleeping baby Olivia. As I talked, I noticed he had a contemplative gaze that didn't fit my chit chat. I finally zipped my yapper and it was his turn to say something. And I immediately sensed something was wrong, because he spoke slowly and softly, like a family member delivering devastating news to a loved one.

[pitch slowly rising]"To...ni?"

[me, repeating the uphill pitch] "Wha....at?"

[tone soft and cautious] "Reach up veeeerrry slowly and remove your hat because....."
[hysterical tone on my part] AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! GET IF OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"

I tell you, I threw that hat and danced around the family room like a crazy mad moth woman about to throw herself into the flame. There had been a bee on my hat and Carl knew if he told me I would completely freak out. Gosh, I'm so glad I didn't completely freak out with his more subtle delivery.
And the worst part of that story is...
When I threw my hat off, the bee landed on Carl who was holding a sleeping infant. And now *I* had to get that blasted beast off him. ME! The one who was doing the death dance through our family room just moments before. It was TORTURE, I tell you.

So now then, I'm sure you can better appreciate it when I tell you I was driving along last night, returning home from picking up our truck that needed a new battery. I had some tunes on and the window down. I was meandering along, minding my own bee's wax when,....BAMM!!! OUCH!

Oh!
My!
Gag reflex!

I quickly realized that something had come through the window and hit me in the eye. And I realized that the something had buzzed. And buzzing means bugs. And bugs means FREAK! As in FREAK O-U-T! And my heart began racing. And I was no longer pretending to be Christian recording artist Mark Shultz. And the chatter of my kids in the back seats blurred into white noise as I tried to remain calm.

Only, I wasn't calm. In fact, I was beginning to panic. What was that creature? Worse yet, where was it now? I considered pulling over but it was dark outside and there wasn't really a great spot to do so (and besides, I just knew that a "No-See'm" army of bugs was waiting outside my van for me, no doubt sending that flying lone soldier out to trick me into pulling over.) Uh uh! I was three minutes from home and I was determined to get there pronto, albeit it swatting at my hair a b'zillion times just in case something was all boogered up in it (Rosanna Rosanna Danna hair is good for that, after all.)

Unaware of the increasing speed of my van (Carl was behind me and wondered why I was suddenly accelerating, lol), I drove home in a manic state. There might as well have been a python tossed through my window because I was about that scared. MUST! GET! OUT!

Down the cul-de-sac, threw up the sash (a.k.a. garage door) and zipped up the drive. Threw'er in park and literally FLEW out of my van. People, I was holding back my dinner and not at all sure I could brave having to looking back inside the van for the source of my terror. But the thought of driving again with an unidentified "what's it?" on board compelled me to swallow my rising reflux and peer inside.

And there it was (gag, swallow).
A Japanese Beetle.
And I'm all, "That is the most disgusting bug I have ever seen!"
And Carl was all, "We used to tie those up on one leg with a little piece of string and let them fly around our heads."
And I'm all, "Somebody better shut their gob hole before I lose it right here in the garage in front of all the neighbors!"
And Carl was all laughing.
At me.
Because of bugs.
(Again.)

With as much dignity as I could muster up, I grabbed my purse, turned on my heels and walked gracefully into the house, stating matter-of-factly, "Please get that beetle out of the van, thank you very much!"

And off I went (gagging still, but Carl doesn't need to know that).

I waved goodbye to Carl this morning. I was standing in the garage as he backed out.
I waved.
He waved back.
I waved again. At least, I hope that's what he thought. Because as is the story of my life, something buzzed all up in my hair just as he headed down the road.

I KID YOU NOT!

Toni