Dear Ladybugs of the world,
It has come to my attention that you are in need to warmth. How do I know this you might be asking - because you are swarming my home. I saw five of you clinging to the outer screen of my window last evening whilst doing dishes. Five. I found three of you shriveled and faded in the window sill of my bed room. I even discovered two on the mauve carpet where I sit now and type.
I understand that winter is upon us. These blustery fall days are nothing compared to the negative 20 temperatures lurking behind the northern skies, but do you realize that you are risking your life when entering my house!? Let me explain:
We have a large black lab. This may seem unimportant, but I assure you, he gets very bored during the day, and snapping at little ladybugs could provide hours of entertainment. Hours of entertainment that I would be
yelling GO! Homer GET 'EM! KILL Homer KILL! encouraging.
We also have mounds of unread, unused and soon-to-be recycled magazines. I hear they roll nicely. I also hear that they make a very resplendent Whack! sound. In otherwords, if you haven't read the New Yorker, you will be up close and personal soon.
Oh! I almost forgot our best defense. Nells. It's true. She may seem young, inexperienced and a tad bit ADD, but she is fearless. Why just today I saw her snatch a spotted companion of yours and plunk it into her mouth. Of course, she promptly gagged and choked just as I was arriving to clear said ladybug friend from her six pearly whites, but she cleared you from the room without question indeed.
That being said, I honestly think you should heed the phrase I have so often rhymed at you the past few days: "Ladybug, ladybug fly away home, you're sure to die here, whether by Nells or by Homes. "