Don't Bug Me

More than war, disease and summer, I hate bugs. if you ask me, anything with multiple feet and wings is just plain wrong and evidence enough that Satan exists. The one exception is (are?) ladybugs. The very name is so sweet and innocuous, and they're so pretty! 

As winter approaches, throngs of ladybugs enter our home and gather in the corners of our dining room, seeking warmth and possibly a meal. They don't bother me and I don't bother them. Still, I don't want to eat one, and yesterday morning at breakfast in a diner with friends, I discovered a cooked one in my spinach and feta omelet and I was not happy about it.

I saw it in time to not eat it, and brushed it aside on the plate. Breakfast was obviously over and with so much omelet left! And those hash browns looked pretty good, but no thanks. I called the waitress over and she was as appalled as I was, removing my plate and marching into the kitchen to show the cooks.

The Freeport Cafe didn't charge me for breakfast, but I remain haunted by the thought of that poor ladybug meeting such an ignominious end.