Ladybug Killer (Or Karma Will Get You in the End)

Yesterday, I killed a ladybug. I really tried not to. Two nights ago, I saw something on the ceiling of the kitchen. I figured it was yet another roach, and I was trying to figure out a way to kill it, which was looking difficult since the ceiling is a lot higher than I can reach. Then I noticed that it was a ladybug. For some reason, I’ve always liked ladybugs. They’re not like roaches; they don’t seem to multiply like rabbits, and they’re not usually indoors. Lord Kissington was all set to kill the ladybug until I begged him not to. He looked at me as if I were nuts, but he humored me and left the bug where it was. I promptly forgot all about it.

The next night, I was in the kitchen when I noticed a bug in a half-filled glass of water in the sink. Once again, I assumed it was a roach. Upon further examination, it turned out to be my ladybug. And I was very upset to find it floating upside down, since it seemed sad that I had given her a reprieve last night and here she was, drowned. But then I realized she was still moving. This ladybug had life in her yet. I scooped her out of the water with a spoon and put her on a paper towel to dry off, while I pondered how to save her. “Lord Kissington,” I called, “I need your help.”

He comes into the kitchen quickly, but when I explain to him that I need his help to save the ladybug’s life, he snorts and says, “I don’t save bugs, I kill them.” He leaves the kitchen as I stared in horror at his heartlessness. I pondered how to rescue the bug. Taking the bug outside would be the easiest solution, but since I live on the sixth floor, I wasn’t sure how to transport her that far without crushing her. I figured out a way to push the screen out of the window and got Lord Kissington (under protest) to hold it in place, so I could put the ladybug out on the ledge so she could crawl to freedom. Unfortunately, as I attempted to place her on the ledge, she slid right off. Can ladybugs survive a six-flight drop? I feel so guilty.

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Perhaps karma is getting me back, because this morning someone spit on me. I don’t think it was intentional, because I would imagine that if you really wanted to spit on someone intentionally, you would stop and really aim it in their direction. I think this was a just a case of a guy spitting and me being within spitting distance. I saw flecks of spittle floating through the air and I thought I had escaped contact until I looked down and noticed a gob of spittle on my coat. Shudder. I kept looking at it in panic, trying to figure out what I could do. My only option was trying to wipe it off with a tissue, but there were no trash cans in sight, and I didn’t want to litter or return a contaminated tissue to my purse. Three blocks later, I was still staring at my sleeve, when I spotted a trash can. I whipped out a tissue, dabbed at the spittle (which strangely hadn’t soaked in or evaporated at all), and threw the tissue in the trash can. Just as I tossed it in, a gust of wind caught the tissue, and off it went. I briefly considered following it and trying to dispose of it again, but it blew into traffic and I decided that I wasn’t going to take my life in my hands to rescue a germ-laden tissue. A man who had seen the whole thing gave me a dirty look. I wanted to scream, “I tried not to litter. It was the wind, damn it,” but instead I just kept walking. For a germaphobe like me, this has totally ruined my day. Now I’m off to attempt to boil the sleeve of my coat. Wish me luck. Here’s hoping I don’t get hepatitis*.

*And if the hepatitis lobby is reading, yes, I’m aware that it’s highly unlikely that I would contract hepatitis this way. Jokes, people.