The Earwig

 

IMAGE: National Geographic

  There was an earwig on the top of the stove. You know, that high part with the oven buttons, so narrow that the weensy, unwelcome monster could slip through it to vanish from sight... and lay a host of eggs.

Ah, skip the eggs. This was a bloke. This bloke did not belong inside.

"I need the biggest thing!" I murmured.  Napkins would not do. I wanted the Bounty paper towels.

What a great advert for Bounty. "So tough that you can squish an earwig with a single sheet!"

I didn't want to squish it. It's a beneficial bug. I had hoped to collect it and then hit the backyard like a rocket while screaming "EW!"

I pounced and trapped it! Success!

My compassion towards the thing ended the moment it wriggled out of the paper towel.

"OH my GOD!"

It dropped to the floor. I began to scramble for it before it got under the stove. 

The earwig decided to employ terror tactics. Its origami wings shot out and it lifted into the air. 

Yes. They fly. 

I nearly shit myself.

They are not very skilled fliers. Clumsy, and downright reluctant, if you ask me. I had obviously pissed this guy off, or so I thought.

My choice was clear: run away before it landed on me. The earwig took full advantage of my disgust. It landed and darted under the stove.

I'll never cook again.