Since seeing my first cicada this weekend, I’ve been thinking a lot about the June bug story. Let me just preface this by saying that I don’t deal well with bugs. I’m okay with a small ant or two, but anything larger sets my body shivering.
Several years ago, I was in Minnesota visiting my parents for the summer. I was out in the garage with my brother, Dave, and almost-sister-in-law, Jen, when I noticed a weird feeling under my arm. I reached my hand around to see what it was, and lo’ and behold, there was a June bug in my bra under my arm.
The first question that might come to mind is How on Earth did a June bug get there? Mind you, that was not my first question, but I’ll address that here nonetheless. First, I was wearing a sports bra — the kind that can gap in the cleavage-area, leaving ample opportunity for the bug to enter my bra. Now, as to how it got from my cleavage to under my arm is still somewhat of a mystery. I would have thought that a June bug crawling along sensitive parts of my female anatomy would have raised a flag sooner. Perhaps I moved in such a way that other gaps in the bra were produced, easing the path of the June bug.
My first reaction to feeling the June bug under my bra was to start jumping around and yelling, “Get it out, get it out, get it out.” I had to calm down enough to get a few explanatory words to my brother. I probably muttered something like, “June bug. Bra. There. Get it!.”
My brother, being a loving, kind and considerate brother, looked at me and said, “But you’re my sister.”
“I don’t care. Get it out.”
But he wouldn’t. I continued the heebie-jeebie-dance, and turned to Jen. Sadly, she has just as much of a bad reaction to bugs as I do.
Someone, I think Dave, went into the house and grabbed Mom. She came out, and even though I’m sure she hates bugs every bit as much as Jen and I, her Mom-instinct took over, and she flipped the June bug out of my bra. Yay Mom!
But I still get the willies whenever I think about it.