They're...everywhere....

I'm beginning to feel a little concerned at the "coincidences" that are making me paranoid about the insect world's intentions towards me (now there's a sentence I never thought I'd write). Following on from last week's unidentified green-crickety-not-a-cricket-spidery-not-a-spider thing on Small Person's ceiling, hostilities have increased. The other morning a wasp fell out from behind the bathroom mirror (I of course immediately checked for very flat nests/portals to other worlds etc) and landed in the soap dish. There are always little tiny scrunched up piders in the corner of the living room ceiling and, owing to the necessity of leaving the light on in the loo all night so that Small Person can go for a wee without fear of being eaten by the Beast from Beauty and the Beast ("but he turns out nice Mummy, so I do like him"), said smallest room looks like the home leg of the Ugly Bug Ball by daybreak. Despite this we've lived in relative harmony with our six-legged friends. But tonight, it got personal. Small Person had finished her bath and had been read Chapter Three of the Magic Faraway Tree, in which Jo, Bess and Fanny (why do I not check these things before committing to the next three months of saying that name every night? Why?) once again failed to actually climb the fucking tree, preferring to instead arse about in the woods with three biscuits each and no need to be home until bedtime. I eventually ran myself a bath, intending to have a bit of a soak before the Other Half arrived from footie stinking, sweaty and in need of some tea. All going well so far, until I returned to the bathroom to find a very large, very dead daddy long-legs floating limply in my lovely hot bubble bath. And it had even left me the tap end. Bastard. Now, this is where I began to feel, well, watched. There's no pretending a daddy long-legs isn't in the room with you - they sort of blunder around making a weird fizzing sound, with no apparent purpose other than to freak people out. Except there absolutely hadn't been one anywhere in the flat (I would have known as Small Person would have done theatrical weeping and trembling, pointing with shaky hand and exclaiming in a querulous B-movie voice that "there's something scary there...") and all the windows were pretty much shut. Setting aside the notion of a very determined daddy long-legs shoving its way through a crack in the bathroom window, tongue poking out of the corner of its mouth with concentration, it all seems a bit odd. So, admitting defeat, I let the bath water out. So now I have the corpse of a gert big insect sprawled inelegantly across the plughole and there's no shifting it. And I just plain can't pick insects up unless it's through fifteen layers of kitchen paper - I'm always vaguely terrified that despite the padding I'll feel that sort of meaty presence and I'll never sleep again.

So, what to do? Write it off as coincidence, or trawl th'internet in search of an insect exorcist (insectorcist?)?

In other news, Small Person was playing in her room this morning listening to her Bowling For Soup cd. She's pretty much learned the words now, and sang with impressive clarity the line "....so I got drunk, had sex with all your friends..."

I'm sure everyone will appreciate how proud I am. Especially her teachers.