I could care less about spiders. I don’t like the little jumping ones, but I actually often save spiders and throw them outside because they eat mosquitoes for me.
My nemesis is box elder bugs. They’re about two centimeters long, and black and orangey-red. I.. hate.. them.
I know they’re harmless. I don’t care. I was sitting in bed reading when I caught one taking a leisurely stroll across my knees. Another time I brushed a supposed hair off my face only to come away with a bug in my hand. They LOVE to sun themselves on my front door and I have to shake them off then try to not track their carcasses into my kitchen. I had to run through a swarm of them to get from my front door to my car; one followed me in and while driving to church flew and landed on my glasses. Thankfully I was at a stoplight because there was flailing.
But my loathing of them has hit new levels.
Last week when making tea at work, instead of boiling the remaining bit of water left in my kettle I went for fresh water. And poured a box elder bug out into the sink. I almost threw up a little.
Then tonight I turned the oven on to pre-heat for some baked potatoes. Washed them, stabbed them, and opened the oven to toss ’em in. What’s that on the over floor, I wonder? Oh, it’s a box elder bug that crawled in and got toasted to a crisp. Yuck!