Criminal Negligence
I think writing my last post guilted me into saving the cicada.
Right after I hit "open in a new window" to view my blog and check for typos, I decided I couldn't murder an innocent bug. So, I grabbed my French-English Dictionary and my courage, opened the window a crack, lifted the screen, and stuck the book under it.
It took the cicada about 20 minutes to figure out what to do (maybe more), but it eventually flew through the opening and buzzed off, much to Chomsky's kitty-dismay.
Feeling mighty proud of myself, I went to take a shower. I turned the handles on the faucet to get the water ready, stripped down and opened the curtain.
Much to my person-dismay, I saw I had accidentally drowned a centipede in the tub. I grabbed a towel, ran out of the room, and begged Justin to finish killing it so I could shower. He refused, so I grabbed one of his man-sized shoes and smashed it.
Let me just say that my apartment is not as bug-infested as these posts make it seem. And I DO NOT like centipedes. They're gross. But I thought it was...ironic? fortuitous? that after I'd spent so much time thinking about the cicada and feeling guilty about murdering bugs, I had killed one anyway.
But as my mom always says, "if bugs are outside, in their home, I leave them alone. If they're in my house, well, too bad for them. They're not invited to the party."
Right after I hit "open in a new window" to view my blog and check for typos, I decided I couldn't murder an innocent bug. So, I grabbed my French-English Dictionary and my courage, opened the window a crack, lifted the screen, and stuck the book under it.
It took the cicada about 20 minutes to figure out what to do (maybe more), but it eventually flew through the opening and buzzed off, much to Chomsky's kitty-dismay.
Feeling mighty proud of myself, I went to take a shower. I turned the handles on the faucet to get the water ready, stripped down and opened the curtain.
Much to my person-dismay, I saw I had accidentally drowned a centipede in the tub. I grabbed a towel, ran out of the room, and begged Justin to finish killing it so I could shower. He refused, so I grabbed one of his man-sized shoes and smashed it.
Let me just say that my apartment is not as bug-infested as these posts make it seem. And I DO NOT like centipedes. They're gross. But I thought it was...ironic? fortuitous? that after I'd spent so much time thinking about the cicada and feeling guilty about murdering bugs, I had killed one anyway.
But as my mom always says, "if bugs are outside, in their home, I leave them alone. If they're in my house, well, too bad for them. They're not invited to the party."
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