So, I was out installing a new liner in my above ground pool yesterday. I got most of it taken care of, and was finishing a section, when a wasp flew up and out of one of the supports. I shrieked and ran, hair standing up on end on my arms, hopped out of the pool and was inside the house before I knew it.
I’m not afraid of much. As an ACO, I used to deal with rabid raccoons, stinky skunks, pretty much everything except bears. None of them give me the heebie-jeebies like wasps.
We have two bees nests outside the house; I regularly pick up the bees in my hands and let them crawl around. Yes, I’ve been stung by bees before. But get me near wasps - whoo-ah. They are fierce lil bee-stards. Get anywhere near their nest and they’ll sting repeatedly, until I give myself a concussion killing them as they land on my head to sting, screaming and running around like a little girl.
Cicada killers. A couple years ago, there was a colony of them in my yard and they were as territorial as all get-out. Experts say they don’t sting people and I’ve never been stung. But I submit that only entomologists and fools can stand still when being swarmed by wasps with bodies that are as big as your thumb. I yelped and ran away.
Spiders don’t normally bother me, but when I had a tarantula in the shower one morning, I freaked out and killed it. I still feel kind of bad about that, but darn it, nobody invited a huge hairy spider into the house.
Of course, spiders. Maybe if their legs were shorter, or if there were fewer of them, I could cope better, but eight? Eight?! And three inches long, and hairy, and they want to get me? EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
No, no, NO! Those are the worst! The short-legged ones with the big bodies can run like the wind! You blink your eyes and they’ve disappeared only to emerge in the dead of night in your bed!! Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!
Our office received a lovely floral arrangement that included some cattails. I was at work one day when a female coworker let out a blood curdling scream. I ran out of my office, sure I was going to find someone with a knife and/or gun in the office.
It seems she had touched the cattail and the seeds had burst out. She had never seen a cattail before.
I have never heard a scream like that before or since.
Physical surprises, although in my case the “flee or fight” reaction seems to be stuck in position 2. You do NOT want to be the person who comes from behind when I’m concentrated (“more concentrated than a soup cube,” as Mom puts it) and puts her hands over my eyes; you’re likely to say “gu-WOOOF!” before the news reach my brain.
I tend to scream (“yelp” might be a better word) when I drop something or hit myself.
The other night, as I lay in bed with the light off while watching tv, I was distracted when one of the messed-up plaster bits on the ceiling moved. At first, I thought it was a trick of the flickering from the tv, but the it moved again…to a spot directly above the center of the bed. I eased out of the bed, and flipped on the light so I could see just what kind of spider I was dealing with. “Hmmm,” thinks I, “that’s a bit long and skinny to be a spider. Perhaps it’s a click beetle? Eww, I hope it isn’t a roach.” So back to the bed I go, and stand up to get a closer peek. Shimmery, almost furry body. Black flecks. LOTS of legs. It’s a silverfish.
My stomach rapidly descended into my left big toe. Then the skin on my back clambered up to the nape of my neck. My husband was at work, so I had to deal with it all by myself. Shit. I got back down off the bed, and started inspecting the soles of our shoes. How is it possible that in a house with enough footwear for a small country, we had nothing with a flat sole? The tiniest bit of tread would be enough to ensure that the fearsome beast survived. Glancing around helplessly, I found my only hope - a sheet of notebook paper. Back up onto the bed, with paper in hand. As I got close to my unwanted guest, all I could think of was the possibility that I would miss, thus allowing it to run up my arm. The contents of my stomach rose up into my throat, eager for action at a moment’s notice.
In one fluid motion, I smooshed the little (huge!) bastard. Twisted my arm against the pointy celing plaster. Success!! My heart was beating so hard I thought I’d faint. Quick! No time for a victory collapse. Into the bathroom, and dump it in the sink. Then, I pulled out my good perfume, the $80 a bottle kind that I bought a bunch of, but that I know I’ll never wear. A few sprays here, and one over there…then Flick My Bic!!
I swear to Og that thing screamed as I torched it. Didn’t matter, I’m a hardened killer, and I felt no remorse. This solar system ain’t big enough for the both of us.
For me it’s roaches. And, yes, I live in New York. The sacrifices I make to live here, you have no idea.
Every time I see one scurry - big or small - I let out a huge involuntary **gasp! ** I have to get up a lot of courage to bring myself to kill any but the smallest ones. As much as I hate them being alive, I hate worse the thought that I might feel it crunch beneath my foot or something. :shudder:
I used to be much worse. When I was in college in Nebraska a huge ***FLYING ***one (flying!) invaded by bedroom and I completely flipped out. I screamed and cried and hyperventilated until my roommates dispatched the monster. I held it together much better a decade later when my sister and I confronted a Palmetto bug in her bathroom in SC. We merely huddled together in the corner whimpering until one of us (I think it was her) managed to kill the thing. Ugh.
Fortunately the one in WALL-E was cute and completely un-cockroach-like so it didn’t give me the jibblies (much).
ETA: Funny how it tends to be the smallest things (insects, spiders, mice) that freak us out the most? Then again, I guess the larger things have a harder time surprising us…
Bats. When I in university I found a “dead” bat in the laundry sink in my basement. When I’m at the zoo, I don’t mind them but when they’re in my basement, I’m not a fan.
So I got a friend of mine to come over to dispose of the bat. He picked the bat up and he started squeaking…both of us were up the stairs with the door slammed shut in half a second. We eventually pushed him into a dust pan and took him outside.
Centipedes. Even the tiny ones that live under rocks in the backyard. My 2 year-old nephew is crazy about bugs, and he collects pill bugs and centipedes (with his hands!) and keeps them in jars. He’s so proud of them, but I run the other way.
Fortunately I do not have to worry about this anymore in my current location.
But a wonderful stimulus to leaping, screeching, stomping and running in circles is when you’re out and about in Texas, feel a slight pinching sensation in your lower extremities, and look down to see that you’ve inadvertently stood on a fire ant mound, and approximately 800 of the little devils have swarmed onto you and are ascending both legs at a rapid pace, getting ready to unleash a plague of painful stings.
Hilarious to watch, if it isn’t you that’s the victim.
I love spiders, snakes, snakes and even rats. I used to go out and kick up logs looking for slugs and newts and frogs.
But mold…
I actually have publically embarrassed myself with regard to this. My boss was rummaging through our company kitchen and pulled out some cheese. ‘‘Do you think this is spoiled?’’ he asked, shoving it into my face.
Just the possibility that it MIGHT be spoiled was too much for me to bear. I made an embarrassingly feminine yelping noise and in an effort to protect myself shoved the table in front of me and nearly fell over in my chair. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’ I was apologzing and laughing at the same time while he and my other coworker looked on in awe.
‘‘That is the funniest reaction to mold I have ever seen!’’ he crowed. ‘‘I’m going to start sending you emails of pictures of mold!’’
worms. larvae. silverfish. anything wriggly and crawly. urg.
Bugs are fine, as long as they’re crunchy. I’ll grab a paper towel and squish 'em if they’re in the house. The exceptions are lightning bugs, butterflies, spiders, and praying mantids. (Had to look up the plural of that. Mantids. Huh.) Those guys get a pass and a quick brush out the door. Lightning bugs and butterflies because all they do is flutter around being pretty, spiders because they’re on our side in the War of Bug Eradication, and praying mantids because they command my respect. A praying mantis looks like it’d smack me across the face if I tried to squash it.
I avoid squashing bugs outside unless I’m bitten or stung; then I’ll try to squash the sucker. Even bees and wasps only make me a teensy bit nervous and on the lookout for a nest. I’d rather be stung than touch something slimy.
I really *want * to scream whenever I see a centipede or a praying mantis, though, but I usually manage to deal with them. (BTW, y’all are nuts, my husband included. Spiders are the good guys. Didn’t you ever read Charlotte’s Web? Changed my life when I was 6.)
I’m not much of a scream-and-run person. My reactions are usually GUH! and small-jump-backward reactions. Those can be induced by ANY sudden and unexpected movement on the part of a critter that I didn’t know was there. But then I go ahead and deal with whatever it is to get it out of my house or at least somewhere Not Here Near Me, or else I ignore it. (Yeah, I’ve gone to sleep with a spider on the ceiling directly over my bed.)
Now, my mom and step-dad are both FREAKED by spiders and snakes, but not a lot bothers my dad. My brother used to be freaked by spiders and roaches and mice and stuff, but he’s a plumber now, and spends a lot of time crawling under houses and into attics, so…not so much now–he’d be a basket case if he hadn’t adapted.
