Every day this week I have killed a spider or some other unclassifiable insect or flying thingy in my home. The other night, I had a dream (or was it…?) that something was buzzing in my ear and I woke myself up when my hand started flailing around my head.
I know these are all tiny, relatively harmless bugs. I know spiders are "good" because they eat other bugs. And yes, I can put on a brave face when others are around and pretend like that spider who can outrun a cheetah is no big deal. I was even on a first name basis with the pest control guy at my former office where we had a bit of a cockroach problem. But honestly, killing bugs in my house takes about as much courage for me as running into a burning building. And have you ever noticed that when you finally do kill a bug, you only think it's dead? Nine times out of ten, that sucker (no matter how crushed it is) somehow revives itself as soon as it's picked up with a tissue.
Disney makes movies in which the bugs talk, dance and save the world. They want me to think bugs are fun and friendly. No. They are not. They are icky. They belong outside and not in my house.
I don't need you to tell me all the gross facts like how the average person eats eight spiders in their lifetime or whatever. I've heard it. But if anyone has any brilliant advice to keep the bugs away—or to overcome my fear in some way that does not involve a Fear Factor-like stunt of letting hundreds of insects crawl on me—let me know. I'm over having all these extra roommates.