It's love bug season. If any of you have spent any time driving on Florida highways, you may be familiar with our famous love bugs. At high speeds they find quick deaths on the bumpers of cars all while in the heat of the moment. They die together like Romeo and Juliet. If left in that wonderous position for too long, the paint slowly disintegrates on your once pristine new car.
Today Richard and I drove to Walmart for our daily trip. We didn't go on any freeway, only our usual neighborhood roads. It rained little spots of black bugs the entire route. I stopped at a red light. The windshield quickly became covered with bugs.
"Look. It's like a pick up joint," as I pointed out the singles from the doubles. "See, those two are hooking up and these guys are still looking." The light turned green and the barflies scattered. Momentarily.
I parked the car. They returned and waited for me to pour them all a beer. Walking through the parking lot more swarmed around. I swatted my arms and legs, jumping around like I had been walking on hot coals.
"These guys are really gross," as I squished a pair on my hand.
"They're not bothering me. I must smell better than you," Richard replied.
I reached out and pretended to wipe my hand on his shirt. Just then he slapped his neck.
"I guess you just needed to feel the love." We held hands, the gooey ones, as we walked into the store.
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