When I was young and naive, I adored ladybugs. Their red and black wings and round little bodies always looked friendly to me. Back when I thought they were beautiful and innocent, I relished in the rare moments when God would send a ladybug my way. All of this was before I moved into a house with a strange infestation of these polka dotted beasts. Now I hate them.
Everywhere I turn in my house, there is a ladybug or two breaking up the view. They creep and crawl around the bathroom sink and floor. They lurk near the windows, often falling to their death on the carpet below. One even menacingly waltzed across the rim of a dirty coffee cup on the kitchen counter. I washed that cup twice before putting it back in the cabinet. And thanks to that rogue crawler, I have fits of paranoia if I leave a glass on the table and even briefly take my eyes off of it. I have visions of bunches of ladybugs swimming in my drink with microscopic loofahs to keep their wings nice and shiny.
Tonight I had a true moment of terror at the hands of one of these demons. As I peacefully lounged on the couch reading a novel, I heard a quick buzz fall past my ear, felt a tap on my left hand, and then felt another one on the side of my head, as if a ladybug took a dive and richoceted off my hand into my hair. In a panic, I grabbed Felicia who was snoozing at my feet and I asked her to find the bug. Dachshunds were bred to be hunting dogs, after all, so I figured her instincts would kick in. Instead, she stared at me, annoyed to have been roused so rudely from her slumber and not in the least bit interested in sniffing anywhere on my head for the intruder. So I ran into the other room to seek John's help. He got up and looked through my hair and clothes, but he found no ladybug. When he stopped his search, I pointed to the floor, "Look!!! There it is!!!" He picked up the bug body and turned it over on his finger. It was only wings! The black body was nowhere to be found under this shell. "I think this one has been dead for awhile," he said and then traisped it back to the trashcan. My mind still racing, all I can think is that the ladybug is a more crafty creature than I first imagined. It must have shed its wings and burrowed its body into my shoulder to lay ladybug eggs!
Earlier in the week, before the ice storm shut the schools down for three straight days, I conversed with a co-worker about my ladybug plight. She told me that she had the same problem when she first moved into her current house. She told me it took her a few years of diligently vaccuuming up every spot of red that caught her eye before she noticed the population dwindling. A few years?! What's worse, the exterminators wouldn't help her because ladybugs are supposed to be helpful bugs. Maybe so, but they aren't helping anyone when they're inside my house.
As a little girl, whenever I asked my mom why God created this creature or that creature, she would patiently smile and tell me that every little being in God's creation has a purpose, even the ravenous mosquitos that would pester us on our family vacations at the river. I used to think the ladybugs' purpose was to brighten up an otherwise drab day with their rare bursts of beauty. Now that I am living in an apparent ladybug refuge, I think their purpose is to hasten the day when I am finally committed to the psychiatric ward.
Posted by Kim at February 16, 2007 08:06 PM