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next The pincer bug--earwig--had gotten itself into quite a bind. It was hanging upside down from my ceiling, connected in some mysterious way (bound?) to a single strand of a spider's web. I grabbed the strand and carried it, the bug lofting along, out the back door. I set him down on the top bloom of a three-foot high weed growing up alongside the back porch stairs, and waited until he had his grip before I pulled my hand away. I've done that before; wreaked havoc with the invisible web still stuck to my fingers. I don't like pincer bugs any more than anybody else, but I'm trying to teach the kids respect for all life forms. Except when they come in hordes. Then my philosophy falls apart. This pincer bug had a teardrop-shaped back end, and I wondered if it was a she-bug and might be enceinte. The thought crossed my mind that I might have just changed the shape of earwig history. Chaos theory, a la Jurassic Park. Yes: ewwwwwww. I try to be an enlightened person, but in the end, so often, it all comes down to ewwwwwww. Reading: The Wonder Years Review of Judith Levine's Harmful to Minors: The Perils of Protecting Children from Sex Teaching Ways to Make it Last Describes marriage training courses on the model of driver's ed prev archive next 0 comments random |