My house is currently crawling (quite literally in spots) with lady bugs.
EFFING LADY BUGS, Y'ALL!
What the heck is going on?
See, when I think about lady bugs, I imagine cute, happy little bugs like this:
That happy little critter might come into your house, fly around a bit and then ask politely to go outside again. Of course you'd oblige and let the poor thing out.
No, what I came home to today was some kind of disgusting, creeping, living wallpaper pattern made of bugs. There were dead ones littering the floor around the doorway. My curtains were infested with them, and they were all over the wall and ceiling around my front windows. I imagine that one of these vermin found a way to get in and invited all of her friends over for a house party.
Artist's Representation, of course.
Ladybugs are one of the less terrifying bugs, but there were so many of them! Normally, I'd run screaming from the house, throwing a hastily contrived Molotov cocktail through the window as I went. However, I actually surprised myself this time. I was hungry, tired, and honestly, I didn't know what to do about the sheer amount of bugs in my house. They also seemed to be sitting very still, only on the window side of the room, with the exception of one or two brave souls that would fly around and bump their heads on the ceiling for a while until they went back and settled on the curtains again. So I did a very Un-Kelly thing and just sat down to eat my dinner instead of freaking out. I mean, I kept my eyes on them, just to make sure one of them didn't do a cannonball into my root beer or anything, but they were being cool and I was being cool.
After I finished my dinner, I remembered there was a book I wanted to get into, so I got it out and started reading, actually forgetting for a while that my living room was currently playing party central to a swarm of insects. In fact, I got so wrapped up in the book that I didn't notice when the light began to fade outside, which confused the bugs and sent them all sailing through the air over to the lamp across the room. I guess I must have seen something out of the corner of my eye, because when I looked up, they were just -shudder- flying everywhere.
In the immortal words of Will Smith in the blockbuster movie Independence Day: Aw, hell naw.
I had to do something! I knew I couldn't just let them run loose in the house, because I didn't want one of them getting into the bedroom and hiding out until the lights go off, possibly giving it an opportunity to crawl into my ear and have babies. Nope! I also didn't want to just spray bug poison all over the living room and furniture, because Butler isn't very smart and he licks the floor for no reason and I was afraid he'd die. So I did the only thing I could think of. I got the long barreled, Dyson handheld vacuum cleaner, also known in our house as the Bug Sucker.
When you absolutly, positively have to suck up every last
mother f***** in the room, accept no substitutes.
We didn't actually intend to use this thing as a bug sucker when we bought it, but the long reach and superior suction of this fine machine, allows us to get rid of terrifying bugs that we can't otherwise get near without screaming like little girls (I'm looking at you too, Steve.)
I apologized to Butler in advance, because he hates any kind of vacuum, and I went into the dining room closet and pulled it off of the charger.
I'm not going to lie: for a moment, standing there holding the Dyson, I felt a little bad ass. I caressed the trigger, running my other hand lightly over the barrel, and giving those unwelcome little buggers the evil eye. At that moment, I was Sarah Conner, dangit, and I was about to do some terminating!
That feeling didn't last very long though, because as soon as I walked back into the living room, they saw me and started to fly. In return, I started running and screaming. It was very undignified. Butler couldn't figure out what to do. He was torn between being terrified of the vacuum, wanting to stay there with me, and knowing that if he left the living room, he'd be forced to walk on the slippery kitchen floor, which he hates almost as much as the vacuum. So he did the only thing he could. He hid in his kennel and watched as I ran back and forth through the room, screaming, and trying to suck flying bugs out of the air.
It was then that I realized that I wasn't Sarah Conner, and this wasn't The Terminator. No, this was Ghostbusters. I was Peter Venkman, and I was trying to shoot a flying, green blob out of the ceiling of a fancy, New York ballroom with very little luck.
I looked into the trap, Ray.
I managed to suck up a lot of them, still screaming, still running around and scaring the hell out of the dog. I had to go outside and dump the canister into the grass, knowing that I was only giving the live ones a chance to get back into the house to torture me, but I thought I'd gotten most of them. Unfortunately, once I got back inside, I saw that more had crawled out of the curtains to take their place. Now I have no idea what to do, and about a billion insects are making a home in the living room.
Anyone mind if Butler and I come and spend the night?