And a Roasted Flea

My son is sitting on the back porch, in the lovely new patio set I got for Mother's Day, enthralled by an ancient bug zapper that still works after being exposed to the elements for at least a year. The distinctive pop and zzzzzzt of the freshly hatched bug population on my back porch, delighting his ADHD as little else can. Hoots of joy come from him when a particularly large beetle provides a spectacular spray of sparks.

We really are not rednecks, although this delight of carnage makes me wonder sometimes.

He asks me if I like the bug zapper and I think for a moment. Do I? I find the sound disturbing and the concept distasteful, but I do hate being bitten by bugs. Generally, bugs are free to live unmolested in my life unless they cross the boundaries into my living quarters. Then they usually don't survive long. Something about being lured to your own demise is uncomfortable and that's exactly what a bug zapper does.... ooooo pretty light...zzzzzzzttttt!!

I hope the bugs will forgive him... because cosmically, he's just a bug to something bigger... let's hope *he* doesn't get distracted by the Sean Zapper anytime soon.