in swooping madness descends THE MOTH, that foul fuzzy demon of the nighttime environs, compulsively and endlessly drawn to the light… for the sole purpose of terrorizing and disgusting the human folk.
Why? Why, shaggy lunar beast, must you be seen even in the day? Why with your under girth displayed through our window, fiendishly clinging to sheer glass by your infernal moth magic, do you bring your fearful specters to our waking hours? Is it not enough to badger us with flitting flights around our porch lights and stealthy enterings into our kitchens?
Two of my children, grown children no less, have an inordinate fear of moths, and most other insects. But their fear of moths, especially, is comical to me. Just let a moth flit in their direction and they are ducking and covering, running and screaming, reaching for weapons of moth destruction. Both the girl and the BOY display such responses to these harmless night butterflies. It makes no difference, mid-conversation, mid-dinner preparations, mid-carrying a newborn baby, they are tossing their arms in a panic and diving for cover. It’s only a fuzzy moth! Save the dramatics for the day scorpions fly.
Recently, I asked my daughter, “Why are you so afraid of moths? They don’t bite. They don’t sting. They don’t hunt you. They are pretty much like butterflies.”
Her response: “I don’t care much for butterflies either. But moths are creepy. They have BEARDS. ALL OVER!”
I pointed to my chin saying, “Hey! What’s wrong with beards?” adding, “That’s a cleverly creative way to describe these creatures. I’m going to use that one day.”
There. I did.
Bugs don’t freak me out. They and I have a Don’t-Bug-Me-And-I-Won’t-But-You policy. If you aren’t evil or poisonous, if you don’t bite or sting, I will usually assume you have good intentions and leave you alone. If you happen to wander into my house, I will escort you out and set you free 9 times out of 10.
Now, I am no hero. There are a few insects that are executed on sight, no warning, no fair trial, just SQUASH. Heading the list in this regard is the disgusting, filthy, hideous centipede, of whom I am insanely terrified. Once, one charged me as I sat barefoot on the edge of my bed. It tore across the carpet at top speed. I yelled, jumped and bashed the living daylights out of the evil-legged worm with a shoe repeatedly.
One of my daughters, startled, ran into the room asking, “What’s wrong?! What’s wrong?!”
I, crazy-eyed, shoe in hand, breathlessly answered, “Centipede!” as a hundred legs scattered about my bare feet still twitched.
So what’s my point? I don’t know. That centipedes suck but moths aren’t so bad? That we all have our phobias?
No, the moral of this story is that beards are cool, even if you happen to have them all over.
(The moth in the photo was on a window at my office this afternoon. See, moths are cool. This one gave me inspiration.)