Just For Fun

“But Mooooom, I’m hungry!” Junior whined.

“You’re always hungry. Just hang on. They’re having a garbage buffet as soon as the tour is over.”

“Aaah, leave him alone,” Dad Pill Bug told his wife, “for what these burrows probably cost, he can eat all the flowers he wants.”

“Harold, I’m trying to teach the child some manners, for Bug’s sake!”

Junior rolled into a ball of delight. He loved it when his dad took up for him.

The Pill Bug family shuffled along behind Mr. and Mrs. Ant and their army of children as the tour guide continued his sales pitch.

“If you’ll look to your right, you’ll see our fully equipped, state-of-the-art bug gym and family rec room.”

The centipede tour guide was dressed to the nines. He wore a black top hat and bow tie. “Insect Village’s expansion plan includes a sink-size heated pool with a sauna for you grown-ups, and for the kiddies,” he smiled at Junior and the ant children, “a coffee-cup-size wadding pool!”

“Ooh, this is going to be marvelous!” Mrs. Pill Bug exclaimed to her husband, adjusting her pillbox hat.

“Marvelous, smarvelous, all I care about is the size of my office!” Harold stuck his nose in the air and puffed out his belly as he spouted, “A writer needs his space you know.”

The tour guide couldn’t help but overhear Mr. Pill Bug. “Oooh, you are a writer!” He smoozed, “How fascinating! What a wonderful addition you would make to Insect Village. What do you write, if I may ask?”

“Oh, this and that. I’m working on a novel at the present. A story about the plight of the human. It’s a comedy.”

Then Harold, who had very little tact, blurted out, “How much do these burrows cost anyway?”

The centipede tour guide said, clearly ruffled, “Sir, our tour includes a garbage buffet and speech from our owner, Mrs. Lady Bug, who will go over all the financial details.”

Mrs. Pill Bug cringed at her husband’s lack of social skills and tried to carouse Junior, who was now eating a purple crocus. Sometimes she wondered why she’d married this pompous-ass bug and sired such an unruly child.

“Just spit it out, you friggin centipede!” Harold Pill Bug shouted at the tour guide. (he’d been drinking a bit, unbeknownst to his wife, but the stress of writing and having a family was really getting to him.)

The rest of the bugs grew silent. They too wanted to know the price but were embarrassed to ask. They all stood waiting for the centipede tour guide’s answer.

“Sir,” the tour guide said to Harold, knowing this was something he’d have to deal with now or lose his crowd. “Our prices are very competitive. Bug City charges 70 hours of labor a week, but here at Insect Village our price is only 50 hours.”

He scanned the crowd, “that’s a substantial savings. And Bug City doesn’t even have a pool!”

“Forget this,” Harold Pill Bug snorted, turning to his wife and son, “let’s go. We don’t have to pay a thing at my mother’s.”

Mrs. Pill Bug was in almost in tears. Dear Bug, would she ever escape her mother-in-law’s ratty burrow?!

“But Daaaad! What about the free buffet?” Junior whined.

“Chill out. We’ll stop at McDonald’s dumpster on the way home.”