Pale green assassin bug
Your reputation proceeds you—such a name suggests that a close encounter may not be cozy. You have finer qualities, to be sure. “Gardener’s friend who eats insects and bites someone who accidentally sticks their mouth on them bug” doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue, though.
I didn’t see you there, much less know what to call you. I didn’t expect to find you sitting on the lip of my water bottle, in the middle of a sunny day, indoors on my desk, in a room that doesn’t even have a window that opens!
So you’ll have to accept my apologies for sticking my mouth on you and then, in the ensuing struggle, taking your tiny, quarter-inch life. Imagine my surprise when I took a sip of water and felt your venomous mouthpart stabbing my lower lip! We struggled. I pulled you free, and you were crushed by my fingertips.
Who were you—and what were you doing on my water bottle? I wondered as my lip swelled and I took a chewable child’s Benadryl that resulted in me wandering around for the remainder of the afternoon in a benevolent fugue, as if I’d had a slow-releasing glass of wine. Fortunately, once I cleaned my mouth with an antiseptic wipe, I removed your venom and the swelling subsided—although you might have called this karma.
Finally, my bestie’s coworker told me what you are called: pale green assassin bug. My coworker examined your lifeless body beneath a magnifying lens and observed your red eyes. We wondered if you were full-grown or only a young pale green assassin bug—a nymph.
Pale green assassin bug. As your name suggests, you appeared from nowhere with a deadly blade—or it would have been deadly if I were, say, an aphid. Had you come to “assassinate” me? Had you been carried by accident into the building? Finding yourself thirsty, you made your way not to the nearby sink but to the open water bottle sitting on my desk? I assume pale green assassin bugs get thirsty. Was it happenstance or ill fortune that I sipped without looking first?
Your reputation may proceed you, but mine must, too. You don’t know my name, either, only what I am called. How, in your world, do you categorize humans? Are we beneficial? What is our habitat and ecosystem? Instead of your dainty straw-like beaks, would you characterize us as having fleshy pink maws that have occasionally been known to rob innocent lives? Who is the assassin here??
Dear little bug: I am very sorry. And also, in your next life, when you’re thirsty—check for humans first.
To my human readers: should you ever be bitten by zelus luridus, the pale green assassin bug, the internet suggests wiping the bite with antiseptic to remove the venom, which I found very helpful. May I also recommend a child’s Benadryl and a cold can of sparkling water applied to the site of injury?
This is such a cute story, Callie! I’m thinking the Benadryl provided you with relief and a bit of entertainment!😊