Over the summer and for the next month or so I’ll be picking large spiders off my person as I head out to the car in the morning. I’ve grown used to it, and like a Buddhist monk I try not to hurt them as I lightly brush them off me.
When I’m in the woods invariably I’ll get a tick on me but it just runs around and doesn’t bite. I’m really not that fazed.
When we get our two weeks of Junebugs in the summer, my wife Karen just about has fits, but other than the fact that they are big and heavy and hurt when they smack into the side of your head, again, I’m really not that bothered.
But if you want me to revert to a quivering mass of jelly, all I have to do is see a firebrat scurrying across the floor. Never heard of a firebrat? It’s just a silverfish without the silver colouring. Anything that looks like a silverfish bothers me. It’s that prehistoric look that they all have – earwigs, silverfish and firebrats have all been around since the dinosaurs and they’ll probably still be here long after we humans are gone.
I haven’t seen one in a couple of years, ever since I reduced the humidity in the house by increasing the airflow through the crawlspace, but I’m sure they are lying in wait deep underground.
