It’s moth season. Not your little pantry moths. No, we get big buggers here. Not being entomologists, my friends and I call them Bogan moths. Forget worrying about spiders, I get more annoyed by moths.
For some reason, the moths just sit against the wall or ceiling all day – not flat but with their wings shut up so they look like little cocoons. So still. So quiet. Easy to forget. They might be dead.
But then, come night time, they decide to flap around like a bloody mad March fly.
When they flap around, it is so loud, it’s like there’s something much bigger.
They hit the walls and furniture with a plop and a plop flop.
But worse than the noise. I think they are attracted to my blonde hair. Maybe it glows like a light? Can you imagine how horrid it is to have a moth flapping at you, dive bombing you, getting caught up in your hair, in bed, when you want to sleep or do a bit of reading in prep of falling asleep?
Mr S has no sympathy. But then, he has no hair, so the moths aren’t bothering him.
The glow of my iPhone (which I’m still in love with BTW) brings them into the room. I lie in bed, reading, waiting for the next attack. (OK, I get it is the light of the phone, not my hair, but they still end up in my hair.)
One night, I squashed one between the headboard and mattress. Yay. That’ll teach it.
Next morning, when I went to remove the carcass, it was gone. Oh shit! It’s wasn’t dead. It’ll come back with more mates to get me.
And that’s what happened. The next night I was flapping around in bed because a moth was flapping around. IN MY HAIR AND AROUND MY HEAD!!! Mr S was not best pleased. Growled at me to keep still. What the actual hell!
So I went to the bathroom – I was sure the moth had settled on me. Stripped off my pyjama top and found the moth inside my top!!!! I flicked it in the toilet but it wouldn’t flush away. These things are indestructible!!!
And now I’ve to face species learning. They’ll all share the knowledge of me as the enemy, the one to get.
Next night … Unusually, I was in bed before Mr S. Reading, with the light on. Mr S comes in and turns off the main light. And hops into bed. “Stop. There’s a moth on your pillow.”
He cupped it in his hand and let it go outside.
Oh great! Another moth lives to come back another night. AND they all now know I am the failed murderer of their kind and Mr S is their saviour.
So now I lie here, waiting. Waiting.
I was going to write that the anticipation of waiting for a moth attack is worse than the actual attack but who am I kidding. They are both shit. Waiting to be attacked by a blind, crazy moth. And being attacked.
Why they want to come inside, I have no idea.
Oh and fly spray doesn’t seem to bother them.
Same night, middle of the night, I awake as usual. Can’t sleep. So start typing this post.
A moth now attacks me. (I know. This is turning into a soap opera.)
Into the bathroom. I’m sure they’re in my hair. No. All clear.
Back to room, stuff Mr S and his undisturbed sleep (which will form the topic for its own post on a future Ranty Tuesday), I’m turning on my bedside lamp. It will draw out the enemy, currently knocking and flopping against the back of the bed head and the wall.
Bloody hell. Two!!! Two come out. One I captured in a glass. The other may have succumbed to fly spray or gone elsewhere to mate.
(I worked out why they are so loud when they flap against the wall and furniture. They have tough hard bodies. I picked one up in the morning, in a bit of cloth, and squashed it between my fingers. Oh yuck. The crack. It was not nice.)
Is this all not rant worthy?