By: Angela Gillaspie Copyright © February 2003

My kitchen is the heart of my home. It's the one room in the house that I can walk through without tripping over Hot Wheels, blocks, and underwear. The rest of my house may look like an F5 tornado ripped through, but my kitchen is pristine. Any dirt, insect, vermin, or politician found in my kitchen is immediately removed to ensure my cooking environment is pure.

Last week, I went to the pantry and got a bag of beans. Heading to the sink, I looked down and saw a ton of tiny beetles crawling over the bag and my hand. I screamed, threw the bag at the garbage and slapped the bugs off my hand.

I crept back to the pantry and found hundreds of little cooties having a party all over my food. Luckily, the baby didn't wake up as I screeched, "What the--? UGH! Oh LORD! Oh nasty-NASTY!"

I ran to the phone, called my pest control service and yelled, "Send my bug man here NOW! BUGS! I have BUGS on my FOOD!"

The receptionist got my address and quickly dispatched Bug Man. Next, I called my husband at work, described the horror unfolding in our kitchen, and promised to call back when Bug Man arrived.

Knowing the pantry needed to be cleaned out, I returned to the kitchen and donned rubber gloves. The unopened bottles of ketchup, mustard, olive oil, peanut butter, and pickles were safe, so I knocked the bugs to the floor and washed the bottles with disinfectant. Next, I looked at the bags of dried goods and swallowed hard.

Little beetles wriggled in the paper towel wrapping and tried to get in the cracks of my Froot Loops box. I imagined all the nasty little buggie things they could do in my cornmeal. Ugh. I flicked a bug off my elbow and it landed on my shoe next to three of its little buggie brothers. I stomped and they joined the mass insect exodus from my pantry.

My skin crawled and I ripped off the gloves and phoned my husband again. As soon as he said, "This is Paul," I burst into tears. "I-- (snort) can't handle-- (sniff) this! There are-- (gagging sounds) COOTIES all over my beans! You-- (snort) HAVE to-- (sniff) come home! (Deep breath) NOW!"

After seventeen-plus years of marriage, my dear one knows when I reach the point of no return - and I obviously crossed that boundary; he said, "I'm on my way."

I dropped the phone and ran to the front porch to wait, and after several minutes of pacing, scratching, and deep breathing, Bug Man pulled up. He fished around in his truck, grabbed an aerosol can, and walked toward me. I met him halfway across the yard, pointed to the can and said, "Is that all you're bringing?"

He should at least have a gas mask, oxygen tank, rubber gloves, crime scene tape, large canisters with pictures of dead bugs, and a loaded shotgun. I told him this and offered to help carry stuff. Rolling his eyes he said, "No, this is all I need."

I showed him to my kitchen and babbled on and on about how I found the bugs, how the bugs tried to attack me, that I considered calling 911, and that my husband was on his way home to help with this catastrophe. Stifling a grin and shaking his head, Bug Man pulled out boxes, knocked off bugs, and mumbled, "Hmm."

He dug in my pantry and showed me a disintegrating bag of black-eyed peas, "Yup, just what I thought. You bought a bag of peas that had grain weevils in them."

Paul walked in as Bug Man sprayed the bugs and advised, "You should freeze your beans and grain products for a couple of hours and then put them in your pantry - that way, the eggs won't hatch."

"Ugh," was all I could manage to say.

"Don't worry, eating these bugs or their eggs won't make you sick," he went on, "the government allows a certain percentage of pests in peas, beans, and grains."

Excuse me? This is the same government I voted for?! They allow BUGS in my FOOD?! Worms and ants on my fresh garden vegetables don't count, but store-bought bugs? Ugh. After dispensing half a can of bug killer and little nuggets of weevil wisdom, Bug Man left us with a bug-sprinkled kitchen.

Paul cleaned out the pantry while I stood at a safe distance and helpfully pointed out all the bugs that he missed. He sprayed, swept, and insect-bombed the pantry while I mopped and scrubbed. I'd preferred an atomic bomb as well, but I read on the Internet that bugs can survive radiation. After double-bagging the cootie-tainted food, placing the un-cootie-tainted beans and grains in the freezer, he returned to work, and I re-shelved and disinfected the remaining foodstuffs.

The baby was still sleeping, so I contemplated what to make for supper. Shivering, I flashed back to the image of weevils having their way with my beans. Would I ever make pintos again? Cornbread? Rice? Yes, but not this night, or this week ... or maybe not until I've attended a Pantry Pest Group Therapy Session (or three).

Yes, I love beans, but I vowed that when they arrived from the grocery store, my kitchen would go into DEFCON 1 mode - Maximum Force Readiness - until I personally inspected each and every pea, bean, grain, and kernel. I'd much rather get protein and fiber from beans instead of bugs.

Stay tuned for more SouthernAngel's buggie fun!

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