- any of numerous broad, flat bugs of the family Pentatomidae, that emit a disagreeable odor.
- any of various other malodorous bugs.
- in a Pittsburgh Pirates hat with cats, singular and thin (minus that beer bulb above his belt) of the family Frankenberry human
- malodorous or disagreeable scents are only for cats to decide and they poop in an open air box so they’re not much to judge
Stink Bugs seem to be a fan of my apartment, and me, and I’m guessing some of you might be able to relate.
Now, I’m not overrun, sometimes in the summer there might come the occasional mini swarm of ‘em but, though it is just a few, there is never a time where there aren’t at least a couple to be found hanging around somewhere in this place, doing Stink Buggy stuff, which is generally just that, hanging around, on or in or under things and usually found with a bit of surprise. They don’t freak me out, mind you, as they might some and there is no knee jerk to quickly kill them as could be the case with others or even you. It’s not a “me or them” kinda thing, they pose no real threat to my life as far as I can tell, well, except for maybe that one crazy for bug and bug country kamikaze flying stinker who might hit you full buzzing speed fly mid yawn to get lodged in your choking throat becoming a folk hero to Stink Bugs all across Stink Bug Nation but, otherwise, they’re pretty harmless.
My ex, Maria, was on the freak out end of the stink bug, or any bug reaction spectrum and found no humor in me finding humor in her freak outyness or my smiling indifference to complying with her demands to kill them as she cowered with eyes wide and a pointed finger. Even the JG, her son, cowered and pointed the same. And he was a kid. Isn’t gotta crush bugs right in a kid’s wheelhouse? Maybe there was some early childhood trauma associated with bugs I wasn’t aware of before we threw in our hats. A spider on his pillow whispering nightmares, a centipede crawling leg legs legs legs legs over his arm in the middle of the night, an aunt that came out from under the floorboards and squeezed his cheek too tightly giving unwelcome kisses? If so, apologies for sounding callous JG, but Stink Bugs, for the most part, are pretty simple, slow meandering things who don’t really do much, flit to flying only on occasion, but usually are pretty easy to gather into my catch and release empty Friskies cat food can … have open window, will Stink Bug travel.
You see Stink Bugs and I here have come to a sort of understanding. You stay away from the bed, especially my pillow, you don’t buzz my noggin tower in the middle of the night, you stay away from my sundries and my bathroom towels, you back off on the Human vs Stink Bug wartime propaganda to try and keep your kamikaze prone in check and I in turn … won’t kill you. I think that’s pretty fair. I will even call all of you Ralph (apologies femme stinkies – and any Ralph’s that may be reading this) to sort of, though generically, personalize our relationship and make you feel more at home and give you a bit more reason to stick to our agreement.
Now occasionally there are those that will break the armistice though some of it is my own doing. I don’t use my bathroom hand towel very often so when I do come across a Stink Bug on it I can’t be overly upset and just resort to a willy nilly lobbing of killings at all Stink Bugs. It’s what they do. If ya leave an anything hanging too long, some rogue Stink Bug will test the waters, or cloths. I can give that a pass, but there was a situation a couple of evenings ago that seriously tested our truce.
After getting home and going about my routine of getting to the top of the stairs and greeting Mimi the Quirky (always waiting just there amid a tappy tappy toe toe tap tap to the floor stretch) with a pick up to my shoulder where she awkwardly enjoys my pets and hello’s in her quirky, old girl shy to the touch squirmy way, giving a pet and a wink to my little Bella, being quiet so as to NOT wake up Cricket the Blind (that’s when the meowling and counter clockwise circles pacing starts if you do), cleaning up after said Cricket the Blind who can take the simplest of cat functions like water bowling or litter boxing and make them the not simplest of messes (she literally fights with the water in the water bowl and splashes it around like she’s trying to teach it a lesson for saying something it should regret before drinking it off her paw), fill some clean bowls with new food, get my own new food ready and get changed into some comfies, I made my way to the bathroom for my evening … ummm … well, my evening make way to the bathroom.
When I was finished with this evening make way to the bathroom I stood, and just before my bend down for the pull up a Stink Bug fell … to the floor … from oh God no please … to just between my heels inside my underwear waiting for that pull up and just before slowly Stink Bugging away.
I said earlier that Stink Bugs don’t freak me out, and they don’t, though this came close to qualifying. It had an at first glance obviousness that I was unwilling to consider.
Could that have?
Is it possible it?
Am I a freak?
Did you feel any tickles or scratching during the day I said to a me? No. (penciling notes on my little mental detective notepad)
Did anyone at work comment on your butt muscles moving in any strange way while you walked past them? No. Plus that could have possibly prompted a call to Bev in HR.
Were you the subject of a coolly looking though horrific scene in a monster movie watching under skin bumps slowly rolling, crawling from your brain to your buttocks? No.
Do you have any weird ass entomological predilections you should never, EVER, mention out loud in any company, mixed or not, if so? No.
Then, continuing to detective, I thought of other places that a Stink Bug could have fallen from to between my heels instead of out of what was just too much to consider.
Light bulb! (save my thoughts light bulb … please).
I had just put on a long sleeve shirt that was laying on the futon from the Saturday before’s laundry and had been for almost a week (my futon is kind of like a dresser, just minus the folding, the drawers and the picture frames, my actual dresser envious of the use and attention). Yeah, that’s it I thought. That’s the ticket. It must have just fallen from the inside of my long sleeved shirt I kept thoughting.
I went with that.
I had to.
Could I have, again, possibly started lobbing killings as this could be considered a breaking of our Stink Bugs & Me treaty or do I instead go with the aforementioned understanding that the unattended can be considered fair game in Stink Bug Land?
Alright Ralph, we’re good for now. We’ll just call this a one off. But please, if ya can, just grab and hold on to shit in my closet that I never wear will ya? Stop falling out of the seeming unimaginable. It’s uncomfortable at the thought.
Yesterday morning, after a stand up from my … ummm … make way to the bathroom in the morning pre-shower a something fell to the floor between my heels. It was a little on the hairy side. Bella, who is always my company around my legs and feet before I jump in the shower in these mornings, stepped over my feet to sniff at it … then promptly hightailed it out of there as if she had just sniffed at a cat demon or been bitten in the ass. It was nothing more than laundry fluff from yet another recently washed and dried long sleeve, layed on the futon dresser, but it scared the shit out of a cat enough to a mad sprint. Truthfully, it kinda concerned me a bit too. Well, at least it just stayed there, sat, all hairy and maybe worrisome but, still, just sat.
In Bella’s defense it was some pretty frightening looking laundry fluff – something that John Carpenter might have imagined could sprout legs and scamper off malevolently – but it was still just laundry fluff.
Seems agreements need now be reached with laundry fluff as well I guess.