PHASES OF INCECTISIDE
As far as killing bugs go there have been three distinct phases of my life.
One: childhood and/or (depending on my age at the time) childlike fear. You know, the sort with hopping about accompanied by yours truly’s dulcet squealing.
Two: the higher road. I am an adult with two hands, capable of swooping up an intruders and depositing them safely outside. Twice during this period I engineered parachutes for high-climbing invaders (once for a rolly-poley and once for a snail).
And now, three: merciless slaughter brought on by roaches and legs that look like I have smallpox.
However.
In my most recent swat-and-squash I looked closely at the bug guts spattered on my hand. What once would have disgusted me was more like a lab in high school biology. The recently deceased legs twitched spasmodically, raised from his flattened body like two very unruly hairs.
What wonder is this? Tiny nerves are smaller than my smallest, firing tiny dance steps automatically.
I refuse to build parachutes for roaches or grant amnesty to mosquitos.
But I think I’ll go back to being more careful where I step.
