Black bugs blood

Robbie doesn’t kill insects. I think he even has a tough time squashing mozzies. Earlier I called on him to take care of something creepy which was crawling up the wall. My initial instinct was to Doom the bugger but my compassionate husband came to the 6-legged creature’s rescue courageously sweeping him on to an envelope and off the balcony. I’m hoping it didn’t land on the balcony below. Like the water which apparently bucketed down on Sandra’s head today when I wasn’t home but Clarice was. I don’t know what happened but I got into trouble for it when I got home. I wonder what Sandra’s reaction to the bug would be. I wouldn’t be surprised if she picked it up and examined it actually. She quite likes insects these days my dear sister-in-law, since she’s gotten over her initial fears which used to send her into a panic at even the sight of one of Africa's bevy of crawling, flying pests. Now she finds them fascinating. Except bora. She HATES bora. If you haven’t lived in Durban you probably haven’t heard of these tiny wood-munching terrorists. I hadn’t. I used to think Sandra was making them up but the rest of the family spoke of them too. We are on the bora belt here in Durbs apparently and only the other day did this become apparent to me. I was wondering what the little worms with wings were in our kitchen when enlightenment came in the form of a call from Sands, "Close the doors, close the windows, switch off the lights, there are bora!" Panic stations! First they fly in, then they mate, loose their wings in all the fun, lay eggs, and die. I think that the wood-munching massacre begins with the hatching of hungry baby bora. I'm hoping I managed to shoo them out in time, thanks to the early warning, and with any luck I wont have to find out for myself the kind of destruction they are capable of. It’s the only way Robbie’s hands will remain free of insect blood.