Why You Should Probably Trust Your Gut Instinct (The Boxelder Bug Reprise)

Before I begin, if you haven’t read it and don’t understand my intense hatred for Boxelders, you can read it if you’d like or you don’t have to. Up to you.

Anyway, sometimes you just know.

You just know that whatever you’re doing, or whatever idea you have, could potentially be idiotic.

But you do it anyway. Or at least I do.

I should probably stop that. I think that little voice of reason–that quick thought of Hey, this might not be such a good idea–probably has more clout than I give it.

If I were to picture it, it would be dressed in a suit and tie. All business and stodgy-looking. Whereas the rushing voice of dismissal that trails after it is dressed in clown shoes, a cape, a silly hat, and probably has a fake mustache or something. It shouldn’t be trusted. But since it looks all innocent and harmless, I’m like Aw, heck with it. It’ll be NBD.

Voice of Reason

Well, eff you, Lisa. You should’ve listened to the smart looking voice in the suit.

My most recent claim for evidence:

I made myself some beef noodle soup. (I make it whenever I’m hungry and there’s not much else to eat. For some reason, we always have noodles. And, making broth is easy with bouillon cubes–you toss whatever else you want in, and, voila! A meal).

Well, I wanted to watch a show while eating my beef noodle soup. So, I placed the boiling soup in my lap while prepping my laptop for TV watching mode.

Hot soup

Now, I know. I know, I know, I know. You’re probably thinking That’s precarious.

Why wouldn’t I just put the bowl of boiling liquid on a flat surface? Well, that thought did cross my mind. Mainly because someone is always telling me that I’m placing things precariously. But, yes, I did think there could be a chance, a slight chance, that I would knock it over. And if that person could see me now, they would probably tell me so. And they would probably bite their knuckles and wince, telling me that I’m not being very smart.

Well, in that moment, I decided to follow that goofy looking voice to the end of the earth. It’ll be fiiiiiiiiine. You’ll be careful. It won’t spill. He’s not here to see. He won’t know. 

You filthy liar.

I didn’t account for outside variables! Rookie mistake.

As I was reaching toward my laptop with my right hand, getting Hulu ready, I felt something on my left hand . . .

. . . it was a light tickling sensation.

At first I thought it might be a hair. When I looked over, it was a FREAKING BOXELDER BUG!

Boxelder

Needless to say, I freaked. I shrieked and jolted my hand out from under the vermin! You’re trying to use my hand as your walkway? I DON’T THINK SO! Not on my watch, Buster. Who did that bozo think he was??

Apparently I was the bozo. Because I had a hot bowl of soup. In my lap. Which spilled. Just like my original thought told me it might.

Spilled soup

Scalding liquid in my lap.

I yelled at that pesky Boxelder. I scolded him before promptly smashing him with a shoe. God, I hate them. They are the absolute worst. And if this doesn’t prove it, then I don’t know what will.

My mom heard me scream bloody murder and asked what happened. I told her there was a Boxelder on my hand, and it made me spill boiling soup in my lap.

Her response: Third degree burns? 

No sympathy. This is the kind of treatment I receive. Well, let me tell you, none of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for that darned Boxelder.

And maybe if I had listened to that voice of reason in the first place.

Cheers!

L.

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