The Great and Terrible June-Bug Incident of 2014

"The horror!" these are the final words in Joseph Conrad's masterpiece, Heart of Darkness. Or so I am told. Like many books I have been assigned to read, I never finished it. But after The Great and Terrible June-Bug Incident of 2014, I can certainly relate to whichever character it was that said it.

My cousin Madison was housesitting that fateful summer. Since I was down in Texas to visit her and her family, I decided to stay with her at the house she was so diligently sitting in. On the day of the june-bug incident, we left in the morning to go spend time with the rest of the family. Around mid-afternoon -when the sun still shone bright and high in the sky- she and I popped in to check on the dog, and -mistake of all mistakes- accidentally turned the porch light on. When we returned, long after dusk had fallen, a fearsome sight met our eyes. Zooming around and pinging off of the accursed porch light that had drawn them there, were thousands -nay, millions- of june-bugs. Ok, so maybe there only like 40, but still. Ew. Those that weren't trying to burn their faces off on the lightbulb like complete idiots were crawling all over the porch and front door.

There were no two ways about it. We had to get into the house, and only by entering the swarm could we do so. Madison and I made several attempts to run the gauntlet of death, but each time our courage would fail us a few feet from the porch steps, and we would retreat with many a revolted squeal. At last, we decided that the only course of action left to us was to return to Madison's real house and sleep there.

On the way there, Madison called her mom to tell her we were coming home. In hindsight, it would have been a better idea to say that a rabid wolf pack was blocking our way to the front door, but alas, Madison told her mother the truth. A huge mistake. Her mom, in the spirit of teaching us a valuable life lesson, refused to let us come home. So this is adulthood, we thought darkly, as we turned the car around.

So, once more to the breach, this time with towels wrapped around our heads for protection. Once more, failure. In desperation, Madison texted her mom.

Madison: I can't do this. I'm going to throw up.

Auntie Beth: Throw up in the flower bed and go on in.

You know all those dumb quotes on Facebook that your mom tags you in, about how your mom will always be there for you?

Lies.

At this point, the june-bugs had begun zooming even more rapidly and fervently around the porch light, thwacking against the siding of the house with their crunchy little bodies. Well, I know a feeding frenzy when I see one, and I knew that, were I to step foot on that porch now, my flesh would be stripped from my bones by a thousand tiny pairs of fangs. Fine, 40 pairs of fangs, but either way, I wasn't going to make it into the house alive. So, Madison and I did the only logical thing, and sat in the car. And seriously considered sleeping in the car. Then we realized we had no shampoo. This was our chance to go back to the safety of home! We called home to say we had to come back, for we must have shampoo! I think our plan was to dash inside once we got there, and lock ourselves in a closet or something until they decided to let us stay.

But no. Auntie Beth outsmarted us by driving over to hand deliver the shampoo, bringing my mom and Auntie Lynne with her as back-up. Did I mention I have like a thousand aunts on that side of the family? Ok, I only have 5, but they are majestic and powerful, which is not great if they are trying to get you to do something you don't want to do. Anyway, they did unlock the door for us, so we owe them for that. They shepherded us inside with much chastisement and mockery, then, once inside, they decided that Madison and I needed to be desensitized.

As they went outside to procure a june-bug to torture us with, Madison and I fled to the bathroom and held the door shut (it wouldn't lock, of course, because my life is a horror movie). Soon, the aunts were outside the bathroom door, trying to pull it open and set the june bug on us, as Madison and I plead for mercy. I want everyone who thinks of my mom as Mrs. God The Preacher's Wife, Angel of Goodness and Respectability, to read this post. When she's with her sisters, we are treated to a glimpse of her crazy. Actually, all the aunts are real pillars of society when they are going solo, but when they are united, they are a straight up menace. Bonds of trust were broken forever that night.

The aunts did eventually tire of their malicious pursuits. I remember the battle lasting for a few minutes, but it's entirely possible that it went on for hours and I just blacked out from fear. I guess we did end up learning something from that experience, which was, after all, what the aunts wanted. They wanted us to learn to not be ridiculous wimps, but what we actually learned was A: Never leave the porch light on in summer, and B: Trust no-one. Not even your own kin.