Tag Archives: insect

Bug

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Bug: (n) a small insect

Here was the explanation:

“You can always tell a black widow spider by the hourglass on its thorax.”

Please forgive me. There are so many things in that description I don’t understand, while meanwhile the little Dictionary Bbooger is biting and killing me.

I don’t like bugs.

I’m going to go one step further, because apparently I’m in a cranky mood.

I don’t like people who like bugs.

On this given day, I don’t even like bug-eyed people. I don’t think I’m alone–we don’t say somebody “antelopes” us. We say they bug us.

Spiders, bugs, insects or whatever categories they fall into, are all obnoxious. And they seem to warn us with their level of ugliness.

For instance, the common house fly is rather common. I know it spends an awful lot of time down at the poop pile, but other than that–and the fact that it occasionally buzzes me when I’m eating potato salad–it seems pretty harmless.

But then you have hairy spiders, long-legged spiders, insects with multiple numbers of legs–all of them warning you through their peculiarities to stay clear. A cockroach–two words that I never want to see together.

Also, I do not think it is fun to watch somebody handle a tarantula.

So when it comes to bugs, I am feeling my skin crawl even as I write this article.

Matter of fact, for the next hour I will probably assume there’s something creeping up my leg.

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Bee

Bee: (n) an insect of a large group to which the honeybee belongsDictionary B

There certainly seem to be a lot of design flaws in Mother Nature.

I am not offering this as a criticism, nor do I think I could have done a better job stomping around the Universe.

It’s just that in the mortal brain, we have a tendency to seek sense where Nature only offers tension. The whole process is held together with tiny fibers, little branches, and maybe chewing gum and lint.

How it actually works is beyond our comprehension.

For instance, I would love to be friends with the bee.

I’ve heard of the good work they do.

  • I realize that they pollinate plants and flowers which keep us alive and allow us to eat, escaping starvation.
  • I am very favorable to honey, the by-product of their process.
  • They are colorful.

But then, they have this thing called a “stinger.” And because I do not want to be stung, I am tempted to kill them, and therefore be party to terminating their noble work, and in a sense, setting in motion my own suicide.

It’s really crappy.

Why couldn’t the bee sing like the bird, so we would be able to admire both mission and personal traits?

But mingled in there is the need for the bee to defend itself against those who would try to quell its progress. So the bee threatens with a sting.

It is bizarre.

It is beyond my grasp.

Yet it works.

And when the bees started to die off a few years ago, we very complex human beings were sent into a dither over the prospect of losing the little fellas.

For after all, we need them.

So we must remember, there are many things in life that benefit us … which are also allowed to sting us if we misuse them.

 

 

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