I Hate Moths

My parents built their house step by step. There was a point in time when not everything had been caulked or sealed up.  

I hated visiting their house during the summer, because that's when the moths would come: hundreds of them; crawling up the walls, clinging to anything that was lit.  I would use the bathroom in the dark to prevent them attacking me when I opened the door.

Once my mother found me on the floor sobbing and clutching a newspaper.  All because of the damn moths. 

So as you've probably figured out by now, I hate moths.  Not just those "death head" things that Buffalo Bill stuck in people's mouths, all moths.  I'd rather deal with a wasp than a moth.  Wasps are harbingers of doom.   I live in fear that moths will fly into my mouth, crawl up my nose or bury themselves in my hair and make a nest.  

Sometimes I think about cutting my hair really short to prevent a moth infestation.  Granted my hair has been short due to non-moth related reasons, but moth free hair was always an extra benefit of having a pixie cut.  But for now, vanity overcomes fear.

Still, vanity didn't prevent me from screaming when out flew out of my car this morning.

Nasty, evil little things, moths.