one ringy dingy . . .

this is Florida,  i realize that.  bug heaven.  and like most sane Floridians, i have a yearly slay the bug service.  it is time.  i can tell.

last night pippin danced on the ironing board trying to chase an errant bug up and down the wall.  she caught  it at one point but being still quite young herself, didn't know what to do with the creature trapped in the fur under her paw.  as soon as she let up the pressure, the bug was off and running, pippin in as hot pursuit as possible, considering the confines of the ironing board.

i went back to my book, soon to be, once again interrupted.  pippin was dancing on the long bureau, head tipped back at an odd angle, chirping her little i see another bug song. and sure enough she had found another ant on the wall.  i watched her antics for awhile before shoving my nose back into James Patterson's verbiage. 

This morning, the beasties woke me up en masse to be fed.  i stumbled into the bathroom where i keep their golden nuggets of crunchiness and having divvied them out, hobbled back into bed for a little more snooze time . . . until mother nature decided to call and back i wobbled into the loo.

i was sitting there, well, doing my thing when i felt the visage of eyes upon me.  cut me a break. still no alone time with the porcelain goddess?  surveying my surroundings, my eyes swept the floor, walls and finally the ceiling and there it was, some rare eighteen eyed bug, hanging precariously from the popcorn just above my head. i could not flee. i was, as they say, trapped like a rat. glued by necessity to the throne of glory.  he looking down, me looking up.  gah!

praying that he had extremely strong legs, i hurried my business and launched myself horizontally across the width of the bathroom.  grabbing a wad of toilet paper, i snatched that creepy periplaneta and thrust him head first into the recently occupied bowl of death and flushed.

yes, my year is up, it is time to call the bug man.