Christmas is a time for sharing and we’re doing our part in our house in Pinamar on the coast of Argentina. It’s turned into a home for dozens of spiders, a bird and a too large number of creepy-crawlies that, well, give you the creeps.
Since we arrived the other day for a two-month stay for the summer, creepy things have happened.
- I stepped on a frog – twice
- I found a spider in my cereal
- I walked through 13 spider webs
- I caught the kids flicking rolly pollies down the staircase
- I spent 36 minutes trying to get a fly out of the bedroom at two in the morning
- I found a snail in my shoe
- I told the cat off for repeatedly bringing dead dragonflies into the house
We’ve gone sixties. We can flow, frolic, love and be mellow because we’ve got the birds and the bees in our hair and in our house like in the 1976 musical “Hair.”
We could love it.
Sure we could. We like our hair to fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees, but this isn’t the dawning of the age of Aquarius and we don’t want our hair or our house to be a home for fleas, a hive for the buzzing bees or a nest for birds.
This is a new age and we’re going with the times. My wife is spraying a can of Raid Max high and low to kill the flying cockroaches in the breeze because they are a fright. We’re calling in the exterminator after this time of sharing, of course, because he’s already on the frontlines elsewhere. Long beautiful hair, yes, grow it and show it but give me a shiny and gleaming house without a roach, please. That’s real freedom.