Altogether now, both my loyal readers, to the tune of "Home on the Range":

Oh give me a home
Where the farting bugs roam
And the birds and the gray squirrels play ...

I know, you've been dying to ask me, but just too polite to spit it out.

So how's it going with the farting bugs, eh?

Well, frankly, it stinks.

But thanks for asking.

Those of you who have been fighting insomnia by following my life know that last fall I mentioned that every autumn for the last few years our home has been invaded by ginormous waves of lady bugs.

They fly up into our roof and into the insulation between the logs to hibernate, and in the spring the survivors fly back out into the woods.

For amusement over those long winter months, some spend their free time worming their way into our house where it is warm and cozy and there is a woman they can drive mental.

These are a special kind of lady bug released in Vermont as an organic way of dealing with aphids. The problem is that before they released these stinky little guys the folks in Vermont forgot to ask that all important question, "Gee, do these things have any predators in this region?"

*Insert annoying buzzer sound of your choice here.* The answer to that question would be NO, nothing around here wants to eat anything that farts copiously when it is scared or ticked off. (Which might be something to keep in mind next time you're confronted with some man eating creature, I'm thinking.)

But I digress.

Without enemies, the little rascals have been munching happily on aphids and breeding like the proverbial bunnies. Every fall some government entomologist from Vermont comes on the TV news and promises that at some point the ladybugs will run out of aphids and there will be a die back, eh.

Yeah, riiiiiiight and some day Harrison Ford will come to his senses and realize I'm the only woman he's ever loved. Really.

I know you're thinking I'm making a big thing out of nothing, that you think that such tiny critters can't make much of a stinkeroo. Oh, go ahead and laugh, but if you ever happen to touch one of these guys that smirk will disappear off your face mighty darn fast (once the gasping stops) let me tell you Mr. Man.

Vacuuming them leaves the vacuum reeking of bug farts, filling the whole house with concentrated Eau de Ticked Off Ladybug. PLUS I've actually seem them climbing out of the hose a little later which makes sucking them up a waste of time.

So I've been going around with a whisk broom sweeping them into a dust pan and *shudder* handpicking the more stubborn ones. If you grab them wrong, they can bite you. It hurts.

I used to try drowning them by washing them down the sink, but when I saw one crawling Lazarus like back up out of the drain I quit THAT stupidity.

If I'm downstairs I pitch them into the fire, which grosses my spousal unit out big time. If I'm upstairs I pitch them outside through the window into winter's cruel embrace.

As I see it, it's either me or them and I'll be darned if I'm going to be farted out of hearth and home.

Oh, and any rumours you've heard that when I send these critters to the big bug shindig in the sky I dance around like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz, waving my whisk broom and cackling, "Die, my pretties, die"?

Lies. All lies.