Susan Senator

I like to anthropomorphize. And this time of year, the bug world gives one plenty of opportunities to muse and wonder.

“What’s worse than a giraffe with a sore throat?” asks Ned. “A centipede with a broken leg.” And then he thinks about it and says, “Actually, what’s the big deal about a centipede with a broken leg? He’s got 99 others.”

“The fuzz takes away it’s awesome brightness,” — Ben, on bees.
I don’t agree. For some reason, I think the fuzz on a bee enhances its look, makes it even cuter. Plus, it dares to wear horizontal stripes, that ultra fashion faux pas, despite its completely round shape. Come on, Bee! It totally makes you look fat. Yet, fat works for the bee. In fact, I would venture to say that the bee is the cutest of the insects, even better than a ladybug, though I do adore the red and the polka dots.

By far, the ugliest but perhaps the coolest of the insects has to be the spider, which has a kind of goth thing going on, with its all-black, or all-brown, kind of a ‘sixties vibe there. Interestingly enough, it has fur, like the far-more-adorable bumblebee, but the fur makes the spider repulsive/compelling. Why is that? I imagine its fur to be like Brillo hairs, whereas the bumblebee’s is soft and fuzzy (how do I know? it rhymes with “buzzy.”) I believe spiders are smart, too, because they can bite you without giving up their lives.

I told Ben that I have been stung lots of times and I still think bees are cute. When I was little, I remember pulling out a flower from a shrub, and a bumblebee flew out, and I watched in horror as it landed on my big toe. Of course it stung me. But I remained unafraid of bees. Makes no sense; except, perhaps, when you think about it, I had disturbed its sleep, or work, or whatever, and it was mad.

I made Ben laugh this morning doing my impression of some bugs in the world. Here’s the bee: Flies into your face, asking, “Are you a flower? No?” Lands on you anyway. Stings, dies.
Huh??
And the fly: Flies into your face, asking, “Are you poop? No?” Is swatted away, comes right back, “Are you poop? No?” Is swatted away, etc., ad infinitum, until it is squashed. The fly is the existentialist of bugs; continues to do what it has to do, regardless of outcome, even if it means its own death. Something to think about.