If I were to describe to you what bugs do to me in one word, it would be “psycho”.
Not just “Eewww, there’s a bug.” But more, “OH MY GOD THERES A F’KING BUG, GET IT AWAY FROM ME!!” Complete the mental image with a ‘heebie-jeebie’ dance and any idea of toughness that I portrayed to you is gone. I really do scream and carry on just like a little sissy (pink dress wearing) girl.
I. Hate. Bugs. Any bug. Furry, fuzzy, big-eyed, 6 legs, 8 legs, no legs, wings, no wings, black, red, brown, white, green, stinky, crunchy, creepy, buzzing, stinging, biting and especially ones that have an English accent. It does not matter. You will never be able to convince me of a bug that is a “nice” bug.
Now, here is my predicament. Every spring my master bathroom becomes the hosting ground for the ‘Clover Mite Convention’. It’s a pretty grand affair. Clover Mites from all over the yard congregate in this sacred place to pay tribute to my walls, floors, shower, and face wash. This year will be their 3rd Annual Event. While I should be honored that they’ve chosen my bathroom, I don’t want to. I’m appalled. I don’t look at it as a celebration. I can’t help but view this as a rebellion – a ‘tea party’ of some sorts. I see them with their little picket signs saying, “We have rights too!” The fuck you do; you little microscopic red, hairy, ugly, irritating little shit for brains!
I have bubble issues and they are invading my personal space.
I cannot enter my shower without it looking like someone had a cayenne pepper party in there. I’m at a loss. They. Will. Not. Leave. This has become rather detrimental to my wellbeing.
Anytime I see a speck of dirt, coffee ground, crumb – anything resembling a dot – you will more than likely see me bent over at the waist with my nose to the counter top, assessing the situation.
To the naked eye, below is an example of what you would see:
(This is a dramatization; the characters in this picture are actors.)
Now here is what I see.
(This is NOT a dramatization, actual footage taken in my bathroom enhanced by Photoshop to make it scary.)
Mr. Fricken Awesome did some research for me yesterday and he tried convincing me that they are harmless. Regardless of what he told me and what I’ve read with my own eyes, I am a ‘cancer’ and therefore I am stubborn and it is my conclusion that these bugs are out to give me an ulcer. I stress. Every-fricken-day. I arm myself with 409® and a water jug and spray them off of my shower walls before each and every shower. And as if that wasn’t OCD enough, I take inventory of the ones I missed while I’m showering; so afterwards I can eliminate them and give them a water ride down Mr. Toilet.
This has become a major headache, self-induced - but nonetheless, a headache. When I am in my bathroom having ‘me’ time, I sit on the toilet monitoring their whereabouts. I literally sat in there one morning and counted the masses of them invading my new package of toilet paper. Being unable to touch them with my bare hand, I wet down a piece of toilet paper and attempted to ‘dap’ them up, but they just kept sinking in between the sheets. By the time I was done, my bathroom looked like a small animal had ransacked my Charmin®. I’m obsessed.
I should also inform you that I read an article that claims if you “ignore” the little shits, it helps. I’m sorry, these aren’t humans and I’m not 5. This is not a case of ‘turn the other cheek’ or ‘be the bigger person’ here. This is serious and I’m in need of some major intervention.
I’m open for suggestions on how to remedy this horrific act of personal invasion. I’ll be the one standing on her toilet waving around a plunger and chanting “FREEDOM!!!” until I’m able to come up with a solution.