bugs and frogs and squished and squashed.

There is a bug that has not moved from his spot on my wall for weeks now. Literally. I wonder if he is dead; I wonder if a bug who is no longer alive can still stay stuck to a wall. And he’s not squished, mind you, he’s just stuck there. Like a sideways stand, if such things happened. Perhaps they do, but they are so very difficult to accomplish, that one has to be a dead bug to do it. If that is the case, then I doubt very much that I will ever perform the rare sideways stand. I hope not, anyway. I cannot think what could have happened to have made me end up a dead bug who is standing sideways on a wall in my house.

That would have required even greater changes than what have already transpired this past year. And suddenly I am looking at myself, my very human self; I am noticing that I am very much alive and not standing sideways. And what can I be other than grateful for this glorious fact?

About the word squished: isn’t it funny that in the English language, we have both squished and squashed? I wonder what the difference is. I wonder if someday I will remark upon how sad it is that a toad is squished on the side of the road and someone next to me will say that no, that toad is not squished, but is quite decidedly squashed. And then I will be irritated because the types of people who feel the need to correct such nuances as the difference between squished and squashed are generally pretty insufferable. Now if I were to ask that person if he thought the toad was squished or squashed? Then by all means, let me know that it is one and not the other.

And if I were to ask the toad if he thought he was squished or squashed? He would just roll his eyes and say “dead either way, so why does it matter?!” and I would tell the toad he has an excellent point and that I am very sorry for his misfortune and then I would be on my way. Careful to step over him, of course, because if he is just squashed, I would not want to squish him as well, and thereby add insult to injury.

And now about toads. Well, really frogs, but they’re similar (and don’t be like the guy who talks about the differences between squished and squashed with your overwhelming need to tell me how entirely different a toad is from a frog. I know, water and land and smooth and bumpy and all that, I KNOW). Because just today my sister Jenna spied a spider (try to say that five times in a row!) and calmly went up to the spider, picked him up by a leg and walked him outside. Not before dangling him in front of both my face, as well as our mom’s. Neither of us were very excited about the dangling spider and let her know immediately. But I was quite impressed, and told her so.

Which led to her telling me that spiders do not bother her.

Maybe you didn’t hear me: she told me that SPIDERS DO NOT BOTHER HER!!!!

“But all those legs, Jenna, surely those legs creep you out?”

“Nope,” she assured me. And not the eyes, either. And not even the FANGS. The ones that are dripping with poison. Or venom, I suppose. The ones that they perfectly place right on top of your pretty, soft skin (or if you’re me: semi-soft. and that’s only when you’ve recently applied some lotion). They pick the part of you that looks most delicious and then BAM! They lower the axe to the grind, so to speak, and they are biting you like you should be sold in a pet shop marked SPIDER FOOD or something, and then those bites–the ones that appear on your pretty, soft skin (or if you’re me: semi-soft. and that’s only when you’ve recently applied some lotion)–there are FOUR OF THEM. And they last FOREVER.

Or at least two months now.

And I’m not even kidding.

And yes, I might be writing from personal experience., but are you surprised? This whole blog is from personal experience, so why stop now?

But back to Jenna. Because after she tells me that spiders don’t bother her (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), she says, “You know what does? Frogs.” And I’m all, “WHAT? They don’t bite, Jenna! And they certainly don’t bite FOUR TIMES with bites that last FOREVER!”

“But,” she says, in all seriousness, “They hop. And it really freaks me out.”

It takes all kinds, I tell ya, to make this world.

I WISH that a frog had hopped on me four times, because that would have been a heck of a lot better than these four dumb spider bites I’m having to wear like fashion nowadays.