tiny, wee, spotted and potentially extremely lethal: the ladybird invasion

Ladybird

I think we may have an infestation of ladybirds.

According to my beloved, impolitely reading over my shoulder as I type, infestation may be a little strong, or dramatic, or something.

Revision: Though they may be deviously and misleadingly few in number, I think we may potentially be lethally overrun by deadly ninja ladybirds.

This poses a problem. See, I am not afraid of ladybirds, not like mice. Ladybirds dont scuttle, or hide under your sofa, or nibble your belongings, and are only really terrifying if they fly at you while you are on the toilet.

The problem is, however, that we mainly seem to have the kind of ladybird who is particularly keen on flying at you while you are on the toilet. You know the type. There are probably dirty niche internet chatrooms full of them.

But I am still confused. How is an infestation of ladybirds possible? Surely the air at this altitude (third floor) is simply to thin for them to live? This is probably the reason you dont see ladybirds climbing Everest very often, for example.

First there was just one, in the bathroom, perched on the geranium in an aesthetically pleasing fashion. Then there was another, in the living room, skipping sweetly across the window sill. Then there was another, curvy-side down on the rim of the bath, like a tiny tipped-up turtle. Except red. And dead. Then another on the windowsill, next to the first one, which was also dead.

And though they keep dying, they also seem to keep coming, and the problem I have is that I cant stop the cycle, see, because I CANT KILL THEM.

Its impossible. Its like having an infestation of fairies. I spent a childhood surrounded by picture books with the little babybug emblazoned in the corner. There were songs about them, stuffed furry ones to cuddle at night and my GOD, they were ALL Over Christmas jumpers – and am I supposed to kill them now?

Spiders, I can happily kill, or at least throw out of a window without a parachute. Midges? Smoke the hell out of them. Kill all bluebottles. Fuck the cockroach community. Wasps? Dead faster than you can say . Mice? Snap their little necks. Ants – sprayem, bakeem, grillem, fryem, who cares, theyre ants.

But these? No.

No matter how hard I try to do it, I cant drop a book on the ladybirds. It would feel like putting a bullet through a butterfly or kicking a kitten in the knees. I keep telling myself that they have poisonous wee, or secret sets of sharp and pointy teeth that in the dead of the night theyll bite my nose off with, but no. I still cant do it.

Theyre cute. Theyre red, and spotty. They flutter, sometimes. And unless they radically adjust the one-out/one-in policy, or, in fact, the de facto one-dead/one-in policy, I cant see that theyre actually going to be able to bathroomarily overpower me and make me dead.

But damn them for being cute. And damn me for being a wuss about it. Its this kind of policy of appeasment that started the second world war. Its a terrifying thought. Today, I allow the ladybirds, tomorrow, Hitler invades.

My flat.

While Im on the toilet.

Theyre a worrying thing, ladybirds. You can see why I might be fretting.