Oh, how I yearn to write pages about my thrilling return to New York!
I could go on about the energy, the people, the diversity of just about everything, the old, dear friends I get to see regularly, the new ones I am making, and the mayoral election. (I am, as they say, plotzing. If only I were also registered to vote here already.)
But I come to write about the bugs.
When we got to the east coast a month ago, we noticed the bugs were different. We had all sorts of bugs in Seattle, but they were (shockingly) tepid. Yes, we had a yearly ladybug infestation, and there were always three or four spiders lurking at any given moment. But we are not a bug phobic family. I always assume a big bug should be kept alive to eat smaller bugs. You know, circle of life and all that hoo-hah.
But the bugs here are (again, shockingly) stuffed with attitude. M and the kids got bitten the minute they got off the plane, and have been suffering a daily stream of attacks. I, however, remain bite free. (If there were ever a stronger signal of either my inherent bitterness, or of the venom that courses through me, I’ve never seen it.)
I sat the boys down and talked to them about NYC cockroaches. I described boy-sized creatures that brazenly enter bedrooms to devour crumbs of candy, and sometimes even little boys. (I can’t even begin to describe the mess of crumbs and candy wrappers we found in their old boy-cave.)
I think I might have gone slightly overboard, because last night I walked into their room and slid on what felt like a pool of grease. The geniuses sprayed an entire can of bug spray all over their room to keep out the enormo-roaches. The air was thick with what felt like napalm. Turns out they’ve been doing this every night since we moved in.
I told then mosquito spray won’t deter the roaches, but I’m not sure they believed me. The rules here, like the bugs, are different.
Turns out an insect can even run for mayor….