I Want To Throw Up Thinking About It

by - January 22, 2010

Something you may not know about me.  I do not like insects.  I mean, I LOVE them because they were here first and they make the world go around and all that stuff (just vying for some good insect-y karma), but I do not want them to come anywhere near me.  EVER.  I will not kill them because I feel mean doing so.  So you can see my dilemma with this world because well, they are kind of everywhere. 

Just recently I learned what a cicada looks like.  You know those lovely humming sounds you hear on a balmy summer evening? 

Picture hundreds of them making this sound at one time.  It really is beautfiul.  It brings back so many wonderful memories of childhood summers.  Hearing that sound makes me so happy deep down in my heart of hearts.  And then I found out they look like this: 

Ok for real.  Just looking at this makes me cringe and never want to leave the house again.  So hundreds of these huge beasts are above my head at any given time in the summer months?  Lord have mercy on my fragile girly soul.

Now, there is ONE insect out there that really sets my teeth on edge.  You might think I am going to say a cockroach, but no.  Or even a house centipede, which live in my own house, but not that one either.  The insect I despise the most is your common, everyday house fly.  That's right.  A fly.  They gross me out so much that the hair is standing up on the back of my neck and I have a case of the willy's as I type this.

Oddly enough, the 1986 remake of The Fly was one of my favorite movies growing up.  I even felt bad for Jeff Goldblum's character at the end when he holds the gun up to this head and wants Geena Davis to kill him, therefore ending his ever buzzing, barfing misery.  Ugh.  I don't blame him.  So I am not sure why I despise them so much.  Maybe it's the barfing, I don't know.  Maybe it's the fact that they are pretty much non-discriminating with what they will consume.  Poo, dead bodies, all the stuff that we find revolting is a five star meal to them.  And this is why I know they are good, but I just can't get past it.

Of course, what would happen to the girl who hates flies the most on this planet? This is what would happen:

When I was 14-years-old, my best friend's family was super kind enough to invite me along with them when they went on a trip to the Bahamas.  I had never been anywhere before (outside of Canada) and this was so exciting for me.  The first few days were spent swimming in the salty ocean, lying on the white sand, and dancing up a storm in the evenings.  The locals were very kind and wished to make our visit wonderful: tiny trinkets, free fruit, and fresh coconuts just fallen from the tree were given with a smile and a laugh.  My friend's step mom was given a beautiful gift of a pale pink shell, a large one that only helped us to hear the ocean more clearly.  A wonderful first few days. 

After a little while, it began to smell awful in the apartment we were staying in.  No one could find the source of the smell.  For days we suffered through the yuckiest, fishiest odor premeating every room.  Finally I found it:  floating in it's own dead juices was a fish that had become trapped inside the pretty shell.  How we did not notice it before is beyond me.  I gleefully announced that I had found the slimy monster that was fouling up our home for the time being, so therefore I was given the job of getting rid of it.  WAIT. WHAT?  But I found it!  My work here is done.  No such luck.  

I picked up the shell and put it out on the stoop.  I figured that on my way to the beach I would carry it to the dumpster across the lot and dispose of it there.  I went about my morning, getting ready for another day of fun in the sun.  By the time I was ready to leave, I could hear a strange sound coming from the front door area.  I made my way down the hall to take a peek and OH. MY. GOD.  Hundreds, no, thousands of flies were covering the area where I had placed the shell.  They were covering the screen door, the stoop, everywhere.  My heart fell.  No one was left in the apartment but me.  My only way out was that front door.  I wanted to cry. 

I scrambled towards the kitchen to see if there was anything I could do to save myself from what was about to occur.  There was no way I would be able to retain my sanity if I had to deal with this.  I found a can of bug spray under the sink.  Thank goodness!  I felt bad but I had no choice.  I sprayed them through the screen door.  It seemed to work as they dispersed.  I breathed a sigh of relief and took the brief window of opportunity to sprint outside and grab the shell before they came back.  I thought I would have enough time to run to the dumpster and throw it away, and they could follow the smell there and be happy in all their gross glory. 

About halfway across the lot, IT happened.  The single most disgusting moment in all my years of life at the time.  My luck ran out and they came back.  Only it was me they landed on to try and get to the shell.  I almost fainted.  I raised the shell high in the air to get them away from me.  Only more space was created for them to land.  By the time I was a few feet from the dumpster, I had a SLEEVE of scurrying, hungry flies covering my entire arm.  From fingertip to shoulder.  I am pretty sure my mind shut down, and if there was a tub of hot lava beside me at that moment, I most likely would have flung myself into it, arm first.

Why didn't I just drop the stupid thing and run away?  Like I said, I was not thinking straight.  I finally made it to the dumpster and I flung it inside.  About 90% of the flies followed.  By the time I got back to the stoop, they were all gone.  My brain?  Also gone. 

It was only restored after a very hot shower, and a sneaky cocktail later that night via begging a very cute bartender for one.  I told him my sanity depended on it. 

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