They’re
everywhere. They are taking over my house. They are in my windows, on my
mirrors, counter tops and tabletops. They are on my sink, in my tub. They fill my light fixtures and soap dishes. They are
running laps around the cat’s water dish.
If you don’t
dodge ‘em, they’ll fly right into you, as though you are an inanimate object.
They are
kinda cute, at least at first. But after being bitten by one, their ugly side showed
up. I wanted revenge but didn’t want to take out innocent victims and I
couldn’t tell which one had done the biting because they all look alike.
There, I
said it.
I’m really
beginning to be annoyed by ladybugs. And I use the term “lady” lightly.
My cousin
said they fell into his soup and he ate one. He says they’re bitter. I don’t
know if he meant the taste or because he ate one of their legions.
And guess who
buries their dead? Every morning a fresh crop of corpses are there needing to
be swept up.
They don’t even care about their own!
But the
final straw has come.
I had just
had my bath and put on nice, warm, clean sweats. I sat down to do my hair.
Now that I
have a giant scar on my back from surgery, I cave in a little there, so when I raise my arms, the elastic from the
sweats don’t stay snug to my body…there’s a little opening…see where I’m going
with this? Suddenly I begin to feel a tiny tickle, a gentle crawling sensation
on my, um, uh, bottom.
How do I say
this delicately? I reach into my undies and pull out a dang ladybug!
Pervert!
Masher!
Gross!
This has got
to stop!
People
unite!
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