There's a helicopter in my kitchen.
It's about 4 inches across, has six legs and is flying around aimlessly, like it's drunk.
I want it dead.
I know some bugs are good. I hate teaching my kids that bugs should be killed. But I have rules. If a bug comes into my house - it's on my turf and has to play by my rules if he wants to live. My rules are - NO flying when I'm around. NO moving when I'm around. Find a nice little corner or nook where I can't see you and stay there.
Stay out of my clothes, don't eat my food. Don't get in my wine.
All of these are offenses punishable by death.
This seems fair to me.
I mean, if I go outside, I realize I could be stung, pinched or bitten. I know the risks. A spider spins a web FAR away from anywhere I need to be? I steer clear. I actually think I'm very respectful.
But if that f*cker comes inside, he's on my turf and all bets are off.
My kids are screaming, "KILL IT! KILL IT!"
It buzzes Izzy's head like a control tower. She SHRIEKS!
I open the screen door to try to let him out. I'm a little concerned about squishing him...he's really big. It'll be gross. So I open the screen door and try to herd him outside with a magazine. He just bounces off the image of Kate Gosselin and pings off of my cabinets and door jambs. Despite the fact my door is at least 7ft by 3 ft, he can't seem to "thread the needle."
Stupid bug. Big stupid huge-ass bug...
Finally, after swatting at it a bunch of times I get it out the door. It finds a home in my bougainvillia and will live to see another day.
My kids, their bloodlust unsatisfied, are disappointed. But I feel humane. Yes. I set a good example.
...watch the sucker'll bite me when I go to take out the trash.