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Nobody loves bugs like Lovebugs love bugs
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| Lovebug swarms this year are worse than normal, but hopefully they will be gone in a few days. |
By ARYN CORLEY
The lovebugs are here.
Ick.
Quite frankly, I’m tired of their in-flight orgy getting all over my windshield. Would someone please tell these hedonistic little buggers to get a room? For Pete’s sake, there are kids watching!
Imagine spending the whole of your adult life (2, maybe 3 days, tops) being attached at the rump to your soulmate in coital flight when the both of you are suddenly smooshed on the front grill of a Peterbilt truck. Or worse yet, a Hyundai.
Sounds romantic doesn’t it?
Twice every year we’re treated to about a gazillion little black bugs and their “love fest.” Maybe they wouldn’t be so bad if they were a little more love and a lot less bug.
Some poking around on the Internet revealed interesting information about our amorous little guests.
If you want to really “bug” your entomology friends, use the term “love bug” instead of “lovebug.” As it turns out, lovebugs are actually flies and not really bugs at all. They belong to the order Diptera. I think that’s Latin for “annoying.”
True bugs belong to the order Hemiptera, which means “Honey, will you pick up that bug and throw it away because I’m afraid to touch it? And if you put it on me, I’m going to kill you!”
If you want the origins of the two words, you’ll have to consult an etymologist. Oh, the bureaucracy!
There’s an urban legend that suggests lovebugs were a genetic experiment gone wrong. According to the legend, the insects were created by the University of Florida to feed on mosquitoes. This notion is manifestly absurd because everyone knows that the University of Florida uses it’s genetic engineering lab to make football players.
Growing up in West Texas, I never saw too many lovebugs.
In fact, I saw quite a lot of “hate bugs,” which is just about anything with a stinger or a set of claws. Lovebugs like this area because of all the moisture we get here. The humidity reminds them of a day spa.
Surely, the Creator has a purpose for these creatures other than to answer the prayers of car wash owners and Turtle Wax representatives.
As it turns out, He does have a reason for them. The larvae feed on thatch, which is grass that lays on the ground and decays. In England, it’s your roof. They eat the buildup of organic matter in the environment, which means they are a necessary part of a healthy ecosystem.
They aren’t so necessary if you ride a Harley and smile a lot.
Lovebugs don’t have many natural enemies. Insectivores generally shy away from them because they taste acidic. My compliments go to the research scientist who actually got the insectivores to stop eating long enough to fill out a customer feedback card. If I had to choose the number one killer of lovebugs, it would be a toss-up between Ford and Chevy.
Occasionally, I’ll encounter a lovebug that’s all by itself. Those bugs are the most interesting to me and the one’s for whom I probably have the most affection. These iconoclastic little rebels have decided not to give in to peer pressure and have made a conscious effort to commit themselves to abstinence.
Or they might live an alternative lifestyle.
Lovebugs are the perfect metaphor for our own cycle of life. We mature, we mate, and then we end up on the metaphysical windshield. The process continues until time immemorial.
Thankfully, their visit is brief.
Pretty soon they’ll be gone and we can get back to the business of worrying about the things that don’t really matter in our lives.
I must admit though, I’m a little envious of any bug that gets the milk without having to buy the cow!
Ick.
Quite frankly, I’m tired of their in-flight orgy getting all over my windshield. Would someone please tell these hedonistic little buggers to get a room? For Pete’s sake, there are kids watching!
Imagine spending the whole of your adult life (2, maybe 3 days, tops) being attached at the rump to your soulmate in coital flight when the both of you are suddenly smooshed on the front grill of a Peterbilt truck. Or worse yet, a Hyundai.
Sounds romantic doesn’t it?
Twice every year we’re treated to about a gazillion little black bugs and their “love fest.” Maybe they wouldn’t be so bad if they were a little more love and a lot less bug.
Some poking around on the Internet revealed interesting information about our amorous little guests.
If you want to really “bug” your entomology friends, use the term “love bug” instead of “lovebug.” As it turns out, lovebugs are actually flies and not really bugs at all. They belong to the order Diptera. I think that’s Latin for “annoying.”
True bugs belong to the order Hemiptera, which means “Honey, will you pick up that bug and throw it away because I’m afraid to touch it? And if you put it on me, I’m going to kill you!”
If you want the origins of the two words, you’ll have to consult an etymologist. Oh, the bureaucracy!
There’s an urban legend that suggests lovebugs were a genetic experiment gone wrong. According to the legend, the insects were created by the University of Florida to feed on mosquitoes. This notion is manifestly absurd because everyone knows that the University of Florida uses it’s genetic engineering lab to make football players.
Growing up in West Texas, I never saw too many lovebugs.
In fact, I saw quite a lot of “hate bugs,” which is just about anything with a stinger or a set of claws. Lovebugs like this area because of all the moisture we get here. The humidity reminds them of a day spa.
Surely, the Creator has a purpose for these creatures other than to answer the prayers of car wash owners and Turtle Wax representatives.
As it turns out, He does have a reason for them. The larvae feed on thatch, which is grass that lays on the ground and decays. In England, it’s your roof. They eat the buildup of organic matter in the environment, which means they are a necessary part of a healthy ecosystem.
They aren’t so necessary if you ride a Harley and smile a lot.
Lovebugs don’t have many natural enemies. Insectivores generally shy away from them because they taste acidic. My compliments go to the research scientist who actually got the insectivores to stop eating long enough to fill out a customer feedback card. If I had to choose the number one killer of lovebugs, it would be a toss-up between Ford and Chevy.
Occasionally, I’ll encounter a lovebug that’s all by itself. Those bugs are the most interesting to me and the one’s for whom I probably have the most affection. These iconoclastic little rebels have decided not to give in to peer pressure and have made a conscious effort to commit themselves to abstinence.
Or they might live an alternative lifestyle.
Lovebugs are the perfect metaphor for our own cycle of life. We mature, we mate, and then we end up on the metaphysical windshield. The process continues until time immemorial.
Thankfully, their visit is brief.
Pretty soon they’ll be gone and we can get back to the business of worrying about the things that don’t really matter in our lives.
I must admit though, I’m a little envious of any bug that gets the milk without having to buy the cow!
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