Our House is Bugged

The cold weather brought in some uninvited guests who, although they don't take up much room, scare the kids. When the first guest, a stinkbug, had the kids running out of the TV room screaming, I named him.

"Oh, Harold? You're not afraid of Harold, are you? He's nice. He's just sitting on the couch because it's cold outside." Bug killing is not part of my job description. I'd rather make up fantasies to convince the kids that it's OK to watch Word World with a stinkbug. He likes Word World.

Later, Scott came home and callously threw Harold outside into the snow. The kids protested, but Scott said Harold was a BYU fan and he deserved to be thrown out. The next day, Harold was back, sitting on the back of the couch. Again, Scott threw him outside. He always comes back the next day, and sometimes he brings a friend. If we had dozens of stinkbugs, I'd be annoyed. Just one a day is oddly comforting, like we are somehow providing shelter for an ugly little bug who really should have died months ago. The other day, I was home alone and I sat down on the couch to watch the snow. I glanced over and saw Harold.

"Hi, Harold," I sighed.

"I know, I'm sick of the snow, too," he responded. We both just sat there and watched the snow fall until I flicked Harold behind the couch so Scott wouldn't find him when he got home. Maybe he can hold out until spring. If Harold can make it, maybe I can, too. I'm going to make him a tiny Utah jersey.