I don’t watch horror movies, but I really don’t need to – from about now until October our entry way is covered with moths. Entry way. Any windows with lights left on. Open windows with lights on inside inviting the horrid invaders.
I hate moths. A lot. I don’t just hate them. I have a physical response to their proximity – I’d call it a phobia, only I used to have a dog phobia and it was different. There was less nausea. And more reality. This response to moths is worse, because so much of the threat is the work of my imagination.
Part bat, part insect ghost, and hell on cashmere, moths have no redeeming qualities except the sound of their bodies squishing underfoot.
|Great. Now I can't look at my own blog.|