Anyone who knows me very well knows I hate bugs, A LOT. To a pretty sad degree. Certain bugs, like scorpions, go in the extreme phobia category. Dead or alive, I hate bugs.
The past few days have put my bug tolerance to a test.
Story #1 -
On Thursday afternoon I woke up from a nap to see a bee crawling around on hubby's nightstand. Under ideal circumstances, I would leave the room, shove towels under the door so it can't escape the room, and call in back-up. However hubby is allergic to bee stings, therefore no back-up would be arriving EVER.
While I contemplate my options, the bee flew back behind the blinds trying to find it's own escape route. We have a window AC unit to supplement our central air, so I suspect that could have been the point of entry. Anywho, I would love for nothing more to smash said bee with a shoe, however I can't reach him now that he is behind the blinds. Raising the blinds is out of the question as the bee could escape the window area and then fly out of arms reach.
After minutes of watching the bee and pondering my next move, I decide it is an acceptable risk to open the window and see if the bee will fly out. No such luck, the bee gets hopelessly stuck between the window panes.
I'll skip the next few minutes of drama and get skip to the resolution. The bee dies in a pool of windex and is still hopelessly stuck between our window panes.
Story #2 -
This one is much less dramatic, but shows I am making progress in my bug disposal phobia.
I was sweeping the floor after J'dub got some kind of crumbs all over the floor. When I discovered a dead cockroach under the kitchen table. Standard protocol is to avoid said area until back-up can be called in to dispose of carcass. I decided instead to say, to heck with this craziness, I'm taking care of this myself. And I did. Yay for me!