Late this afternoon, I heard the telltale scream signalling that Sylvia had encountered a bug. "GET THE ZAPPER!" she cried from the theatre room, and I dutifully strolled over to retrieve it.
The bug zapper is new to our household. Sylvia is tired of the small insects that sometimes breach our defences, so she bought the zapper. It looks like a tennis racket, but when you press a button on the handle the "strings" of the racket pulse electricity. It was time to put this new device to the test.
To my surprise, there was indeed a ladybug crawling on our theatre room couch, mere centimetres away from Sylvia.
"Oh, you used to like ladybugs," I remarked.
"KILL IT!" Sylvia shrieked, bringing me back into the moment. Rather than do the dirty deed myself, I handed the zapper to Sylvia. In a fluid motion that utterly belied her disability, she swatted the ladybug at the same instant she depressed the zapper's trigger.
There was a fiery flash of light and a great CRACK! that seemed to split the air. Astonished, we saw that the ladybug had been utterly obliterated--not a trace remained, no chitin, no ash, no fried innards, nothing.
"You vaporized it!" I cried.
Sylvia looked a bit sheepish, but I know she'll do it again when she must.
CODA
Sylvia had indeed once liked ladybugs, until the fateful day when one betrayed her by opening its shell suddenly, revealing its wings, and then flew past her face. The moment startled Sylvia so badly that she vowed never to trust any bug again, no matter how cute.
She does make an exception for bees, "Because they're fuzzy."
