I have been known to shower in a different (much smaller) bathroom because a bug is slowly dying in my main shower because I don't want to kill/touch/deal with it.
I have been known to scream bloody murder at the sight of a harmless little spider.
I have been known to try to bang a bug with something heavy, miss, crawl up in a ball on the floor and cry until someone else kills it and removes the carcass.
(Yes, I am a Biologist. I'd rather deal with people's body parts and microscopic organisms than a bug any day of the week. Thanks.)
I now have a daughter. And a house with a basement. I can no longer scream bloody murder when I spy a bug. In fact, I have been trying to calmly hide all fear of things-with-more-legs-than-me-that-can-move-faster-than-me-and-chase-me-in-my-nightmares from my daughter. I don't want to teach her to be afraid - if she's going to be squeamish about bugs, she can find that out on her own.
But then, I went a step further.
I bought a Bug Kit. A plastic box with a magnifying glass in the lid, a net for catching flying insects and little plastic tweezers.
|The bug kept flipping over on its back. I put the leaf in there to help it stay upright.|
|The worm was stretching out and showing off for the camera.|
Then I scrubbed my freaking hands until they were red.
And had a nightmare about a tarantula.