Lapidary Lepidoptera Llano
As we stood gazing at butterflies feeding from thistle flowers, wife offered to buy me a yellow shirt.
"If you wear it," she said, "the butterflies will come."
I told her I'd like that.
She stared at me. "You do realize butterflies are bugs, right? And you might get a trillion of them on you, with a couple trillion pairs of wings beating about you, six trillion buggy legs tickling your skin, all those trillion proboscides probing and wondering why your shirt doesn't offer nectar."
"Yes," I calmly replied. "And I could teach them how to attack."
She stared at me, quickly and quietly sidestepping away toward the house without taking her eyes from mine.
"If you wear it," she said, "the butterflies will come."
I told her I'd like that.
She stared at me. "You do realize butterflies are bugs, right? And you might get a trillion of them on you, with a couple trillion pairs of wings beating about you, six trillion buggy legs tickling your skin, all those trillion proboscides probing and wondering why your shirt doesn't offer nectar."
"Yes," I calmly replied. "And I could teach them how to attack."
She stared at me, quickly and quietly sidestepping away toward the house without taking her eyes from mine.