Tue, 18 Jan 2000

Dear Misters,

I have noticed a series of arthropod plagues in this apartment ever since I moved in. First, a wave of earwigs swept through; then, the dainty little roaches started tripping along the carpet; next, a swarm of crickets did their jitterbug dance; a series of small black hunting spiders peppered the walls after that, followed most recently by an inexplicable grouping of houseflies on the walls, buzzing at me as I try to read myself to sleep. Do I look to the Bible for guidance, or shall the three Misters enlighten me as to the cause of these sporadic visitations?

Squirrel Grrrl.

_________________________

Dear Queen,

At least they take turns.

Which is more than you can say for Mister Dark and Mister Malice.

A more cynical Mister might guess that the insects invade your home just so they can get a dramatic write-up in a popular and influential advice column. You, madam, are the Supreme Mistress of Insect Prose, I dare say. Give National Geographic a call.

Eschew the Bible, for this is the source of your plagues: You are sweet as Christmas candy. Your skin flakes (shed at an amazing and easily looked up rate which I am too far away from an encyclopedia to confirm) attract the underground legions like nice black pants attract cats. Genetic mutation has made you the entemologic equivalent of a Freeze-Pop, and all the little scarabs want a lick. Learn to live with it, I say. Learn to live with your sweet self, your sugary goodness, your glucose gestalt.

Mister Wonderful, after all, has learned to live with his attractiveness.

OHHH, THAT'S GOTTA WONDER

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