I'm standing in the grass next to the church down the street, waiting for Chandler to finish his elaborate poopy dance. Back and forth, around and around. Meanwhile tiny black bugs, hundreds of them, are buzzing my head and landing in and on my ears. I must be a humorous sight to anybody out on this early morning, dancing around and swatting at my head with a handkerchief. It is the season for these damn bugs and they are driving me crazy. That's the problem with Florida. Just when one horrible season finishes, another starts. A little earlier this year, in May, we had the lovebug season. Lovebugs are big black flies that tend to hang out near roads. They swarm so thick that if you are driving you will quickly find that your windshield is a splattered gooey mess. Floridians know better than to turn on the windshield wipers when that happens. Just so you know, if you plan to visit Florida in August, like my dad used to do because it was so much cheaper, the second lovebug season starts then. Don't turn on the wipers.
And speaking of bugs, every evening after I walk Chandler, I feed the cats with two fresh bowls of cat food and pick up the dirty bowls from the morning feeding. Last night as I was walking through the house with the two dirty bowls, I felt something crawling on me. I looked down at my arm and saw that a palmetto bug the size of a Buick was making its way towards my face. I screamed like a little girl. "BUG, BUG! JESUS... BUG! GIANT BUG!" I swatted at the thing. Luckily, it didn't decide to fly around the room. Instead it landed on the floor and quickly skittered off towards the kitchen as I stomped after it. Just as it was about to disappear under the fridge, I got it with a loud crunch.