Ever since the weather started warming up and it got too warm to leave the window closed, I've had a whole hoarde of visitations. There was the fly, noiser and bigger than anything I've come across in Malaysia, that buzzed around in an increasingly dizzy dance, clunking on the window pane several times before finding the exit. Then there was that angry bee - not very entertaining at all, that ran into the glass several times before seeming to collaspe on the upper sill before rolling off it and into the big blue. The fly visited several more times and tonight it's a very panicky moth that just gave up and is now sitting on the curtain rail (I think).
I don't like bugs at all. I'll freely admit to girlish tendencies bordering on hysterics when I'm confronted by one. Okay, I apologise for the political incorrectness, girlish is completely the wrong word, feel free to delete and reinsert a more appropriate metaphor in your own time.
I've had one too many stings, bites, and hair landings to be comfortable around bugs. I don't enjoy killing them either. I totally admire their resilience and determination in surviving in a highly "bug eat bug" world, but if they'd take their persistance at drowning in my food/drink, their single-mindedness in clinging onto anything they can get a foothold on, and their multi-faceted eyeballs and stay on the other side of the window, I'd be much happier for it.
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