Jun. 08, 2002 ~ Give me charging bulls,
give me copperheads. Give me scorpions, tarantulas, or even bobcats, but whatever you do, DON'T let a Junebug get on me. When that happens -- and it happened tonight -- I scream the scream of a girly girl (which I'm not), I am unable to move, and I simply sit there staring at the wretched creature until somebody comes and gets the horrid thing off of me.
Young Son is not particularly good with bugs; I usually have to kill the wasps, spiders, etc., when he's around. But lordy, lordy... that blood-curdling yell brought him running tonight.
Don't ask me why I hate Junebugs... you don't want to know. But here's a small bit of advice. If someone has a slight, um, "phobia" about Junebugs, the one thing you DON'T want to do is to open the door at night, to throw a Junebug OUT. Because guess what happens when you do that. Go ahead... guess.
A million more come inside. And guess who dives under the covers of her bed and stays there so long that she almost falls asleep? I think it was breathing in all that carbon dioxide that did it...
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