Ohmigawd, ohmigawd. I was just attacked by a tree roach the size of my thumb. My husband says it probably wasn't attacking me, per se, but rather trying to find a way to climb onto my leg and investigate me, but that, in my humble opinion, fits within my definition of the word "attack." I screamed like a girl and danced the hootchie kootchie, waking up one of my sleeping children in the process.
The thing had GRABBED MY TOE through my sock and wouldn't let go. I'm just sitting there, minding my own business at the computer, and I feel this little "tug tug." What the heck kind of bug is so big and bold that it grabs your sock and won't let go? Then it crawled under the bed and had to be sucked back out with a vacuum cleaner. I won't be opening THAT bag any time soon, no siree.
Look, I'm a girl from the suburbs, okay? I don't go camping because I don't believe it makes any kind of sense to leave a perfectly good toilet and shower behind. But since I've moved to my new home state a month ago, I've battled tree roaches, maggots, mosquitoes, copperheads, wasps, click bugs, little wiggly things that have yet to be named...I love the forest and everything, but if I woke up tomorrow and somehow my yard had been accidently covered in concrete, I probably wouldn't call anyone to change it back. Yuk.