It takes a LOT to gross me out. Look, I have wiped every manner of poopy bums, snot-encrusted noses and puddles of puke in the wee hours of the night (while holding a vomiting, crying child). I have gutted chickens, helped skin a cow, witnessed childbirth on five different occasions, NOT including my own. I’ve poked a dead, bloated racoon in the heat of a July morning, just for the giggles. When I was gifted a microscope as a child, I sought out dead critters in the backyard to dissect and examine. I’ve caught live bats, snakes, lizards and shrews (the latter, a live one released by my cat in my kitchen bit me as I threw the ungrateful bastard to freedom and I had to have a tetanus shot as my reward… LOL).
Bugs too, enthrall me with their amazing diversity. From the sweet imaginative ladybugs to the ferocious murderers of the spider world, every manner of insect and arachnid proves to me the tenacity of Mother Nature. I think bugs are fascinating, worthy of our utmost respect.
Earwigs hold no place in my heart. From the way they slither and fall from a wet towel accidentally left outside overnight, exposing their guilt by scuttering away seeking another dark and damp place to hold their vigil with the devil. What, I ask is their purpose? Spiders catch insects that annoy us. Wasps even will eat aphids, thus being a beneficial critter to have around my roses. Even mosquitoes provide the very food for the birds and bats and other rad little bugs that I enjoy witnessing in my very own yard.
But earwigs are the spawn of Satan himself, I am sure. From the way they abhor light and their icky pincers on their backsides; they lead me to revulsion. I cringe when I see those nasty things. I was pinched as a child by one of those insects. The tales of them crawling into some oblivious victim’s ear and eating their brains has stayed with me like a nasty chili fart that won’t evaporate. I know in reality that they don’t do that, but still…. still, it IS a possibility… Right?
Yet, as a lover of all creatures, I never squish those little bastards. I let them go, assuring myself that they too have a purpose in this world. I don’t know what that may be and I am sure that it isn’t that important. Other than grossing me out, they serve me no harm.
Still. I cannot find it within me to admire the earwig. Even the name is disgusting. Who named this insect? WHY on EARTH would you call it an earwig? It conjures up every manner of slithery secretive scuttling I can imagine.
Actually, then, come to think of it, earwig is the perfect name for a perfectly disgusting creature.