Disclaimer: Pet Fly's guys.

Author's Notes: > Yet another real-life fic. I've picked thirty-seven of the little buggers off the screen door in one day. And that's just the only day I counted.




Jim was just sitting down in front of the television, setting his beer down on a coaster on the coffee table, when he spotted yet another of the little orange invaders that had been making his life hell lately. They were all over the station. They were all over his truck. Now they were all over the loft. And when you scared them or squashed them, they let out a horrific sour stink, and yellow bug guts that had stained his favorite shirt when he'd tried to brush them off after going outside.

He lifted a section of the Cascade Times, rolled it up, and prepared to swat.

"Jim!" A well-known wail interrupted with such hurt reproach you'd think Sandburg had been the target of the rolled-up paper, which he snatched from Jim's hand. The diatribe continued, as Blair gingerly scooped up the said insect menace, heading for the balcony. "I can't believe you were going to squish a poor innocent ladybug, man. I mean, they're cute. What other bug is a character in children's books and has inspired a fad for Russian enameled jewelry in the 1800s? And they're harmless. Actually helpful, farmers import them to eat the nasties and then they don't have to use as many chemicals, that was really important to the organic movement and yeowtch!"

The yelp of surprise was accompanied by that sour stench, and Jim allowed himself a small smile. "Yep. Ladybugs are helpful... so helpful they started importing the Asian lady beetle too. Only they like to come indoors where it's warm. And they bite."

"Babe-of-the-week bug," Blair muttered darkly, going into the bathroom to wash the yellow smear of bug guts off his hand.

~ End ~

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Page last updated 8/15/03.