…you forget yourself, sometimes.
Dinner the evening of 4 July 2015, I’m sitting at the outdoor dining table with my boyfriend and his family. We’ve eaten and we’re waiting for darkness and fireworks.
A little black bug walks across the table. Its tiny antennae, slender legs and neat, lacy wings captivate me.
The person to the left of me tries to flick it away, and it walks my direction, fluttering its wings repeatedly. Without thinking, I pet it.
“Who’s a little bug? Who’s got wings?” It walks in front of me, flicking its wings again. I hold my paper napkin in its path and on the third try, get it to climb aboard. “Oh, who’s a cute bug?” I hold it up for my boyfriend to see. “Look, I have a pet bug!”
He smiles and I place my napkin back on the table. I continue to pet it and coo about its adorable little black face and smart little feet. Then I hear, “…is she talking to that bug?” And I remember, Most People Do Not Speak to Bugs. I pet it one last time (so it doesn’t think I don’t like it anymore) and return to human conversation.
Weirdness. I has it.