AS THE TACO TURNS - The Louse in My Blouse

     “Can you believe it?” said my next door neighbor Tammy Faye as she threw open her screen door. “This one brings the body count up to forty this year.”
     She approached my door carrying a dustpan, her arms extended as if offering a tray of hors d’oeuvres. A lifeless scorpion lay in the silver scoop, as flat as a pancake.
     I shook my head incredulously. “Tammy Faye, your condo must be a top ten destination spot for arthropod pilgrims. Where did you find the uninvited guest?”
     "I heard Dixie barking. I walked into the living room to see what was causing the ruckus and she had the thing cornered behind a stool. I grabbed my Weber stainless steel spatula and whacked it.”
     I was impressed. I had no idea a grill accessory could be so versatile.
     The curved tailed creature made me think of Wile E. Coyote, the sad sack cartoon character who spent most of his waking hours either being flattened under the wheels of a semi truck or squashed by a falling anvil.
     I had come across a scorpion in my house twice. The pitiful thing was standing at my screen door scratching to be let out.
     Tammy Faye is a meticulous housekeeper who hates bugs.
     Perhaps scorpions are tidy, I thought. Disgusted with the mountains of dust bunnies and cockroach carcasses under my bed, it was plausible that it decided to move on to cleaner pastures.
     The other time, one fell from the ceiling fan and landed on Larry’s bare chest. He flicked it with his finger with such velocity that the scorpion launched into the air, executed three perfect loop de loops and landed on its eight feet with the perfection of a Mary Lou Retton balance beam dismount.
     Not wishing to sully my karma through an act of violence, I used a broom to shepherd the aerialist out my door and onto Tammy Faye’s stoop.
     “Go my little wayfarer,” I chirped. “Find the path that leads to your clan, but beware of the dangers that lurk within.”
     I didn’t see the little fellow again and suspect he is living happily with his family in a dark crevasse inside Tammy Faye’s air conditioner.



I think bugs are fascinating. When I was a kid I was given an Uncle Milton’s Ant Farm for Christmas. I would sit for hours watching my captives carry bits of twigs from one tunnel to another.
     Many people are repulsed by insects. It’s sad. If bugs didn’t have multiple legs and eyes and instead looked like puppies, they would be welcomed as guests in anyone’s home and never see the underside of a boot heel.
     In Mexico, I have seen bugs shaped like sticks and I have seen centipedes that resemble Koosh balls. If a creepy crawler is say, no bigger than a belly button, I will pick it up with a Kleenex and toss it outside. If it is bigger than a belly button, I will make Larry pick it up and toss it outside.
     However, my charitable nature was taken advantage of this year by an angry spider with a bad attitude and I exterminated its arachnid ass to kingdom come. I was wearing my favorite nightie. It has elastic under the bodice. An empire cut I believe it is called. I woke up the following morning with several red bumps on my breasts and around my back. I looked like I was wearing a polka dot bikini top. Larry had the same bites under the elastic of his Fruit of the Looms. At first I thought the bed was infested with fleas or bedbugs, but diligent examination disclosed nothing. It appeared to be a vermin hit and run.  I resolved to protect my cleavage from another assault. A few hours later, suspicious rings formed around the bumps and I searched the internet for an answer. The probable culprit was a spider so I bought a can of insecticide. We put on haz-mat gear and lifted the mattress off the bed frame. We found no evidence of  life but copiously sprayed the bed frame until its wooden slats gleamed in toxic film.
     I envisioned a cluster of spiders hunkered down in a hidey- hole plotting their next move. I raise the can and place my finger on the trigger. “RAAAIIID!” they scream and an explosion is followed by a puff of smoke.
     One week later, Larry and I are still free of bug bites.
     “I wonder if they found another dark place to set up housekeeping and start a new family.” I mentioned to Larry as we were having a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.
     I heard my neighbor’s screen door open and shut and my name being called.
     Tammy Faye stood outside. She lowered her bathing suit straps to reveal a series of red bumps with a bulls-eye pattern.
     “What do you think did this?” she asked with knit brows. 
       I smiled and handed her my can of insecticide.