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.
