Wednesday, July 10, 2013
I'm battling Japanese Beetles who each year munch the Rosa Rugosas by the front door. I've developed a system which works well enough. I keep a little jug of water secreted behind the jen-you-wine antique concrete Grecian urn which sits nearby and whenever I pass by I knock a few bugs into it and manage to keep ahead of the devastation. The problem is that the bugs don't die. For days. Now, much as I loathe them, I'm not a psycho weirdo about it and I'm not really into torturing anybody. So this year I refined my approach. I added multi-purpose detergent to the mix and in addition to being instantly lethal, adds an aroma of cleanliness to my doorstep. Yesterday during a pleasantly murderous half hour my attention wandered to the bumble bees covering the shrubs. They rumbled up in the usual bumble bee way but when they reached the yolky yellow center of the roses they upped the pitch of their buzz and as they rolled about emitted a high bzzzzzz that was an hilarious bee squeal of ecstasy. And it was then that my new guests appeared. I was forced to explain that their room was not quite ready mainly because I had been watching bumble bees. As I said this I was frantically trying to push the jug of dead beetles back into their hiding place with my foot. My guests seemed of a mind to accept my lack of professionalism and chalk it up to charming eccentricity and I didn't want to jeopardize their good will by showing myself to be the slaughterer of innocents. Sadly, I miscalculated with the last push of the jug and it fell over, engulfing their New York City shoes, which probably cost more than my car, in a virulent bright blue Lysol liquid studded with the corpses of countless beetle bugs. Apologies and explanations are pointless in a situation like this, don't you find? "Welcome to Blue Skye" I said brightly.