Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

     After 5 nights of camping, I feel fairly confident in calling myself an expert. I've learned many things about the great outdoors already. One such thing being the assault of bugs you will most assuredly experience if you decide to camp.
    
     Imagine, you've been on the road all day long. Gritty dust lines your mouth, you haven't showered in two days, and your feet ache from miles of walking. After seeing several "CAMPGROUND FULL" signs, you finally roll into one with some openings. You pay the proprietor, and make your way to your patch of dirt. Give it another hour or so of finagling with the tent, moving things around in the car, and general life-on-the-road maintenance. Now, it's finally time to eat! You haven't had anything in your stomach but a banana and some yogurt since noon, and the sun is now kissing the horizon. Dig the propane grill out of the trunk, walk a half mile to fill a pot with water (then back), and fire it up as you wait patiently for the freeze-dried vegetables and noodles in a styrofoam cup your stomach growls for so demandingly. After 15 minutes or so, the water's boiling! The sun has since sunk below the horizon, and you're looking forward to enjoying your meal by the glow of your fluorescent lantern. After peeling back the paper lid of your cup, you carefully pour the boiling water in, re-cover it, and then patiently wait another 5 minutes for the water to do its thing. Your mouth waters, your stomach growls, and your hands shake in anticipation. It's time! You tear the paper lid off the rest of the way in a frenzy, fling it to the side without a second thought, and descend like a bird of prey toward your noodles. And then...

     *plop*

      A big, fat, hairy, disgusting moth flies right into your cup. It's wings flutter as it tries futilely to escape the hot water. It twitches fruitlessly a few more times and then remains still. The assault has begun.

"Hi, can I get a table for two, non-smoking, please?"

Moths swarm the lantern, flopping off of it, onto the table, into your face, down your shirt, up your shorts, etc, etc, etc. You try fogging the area with the bug spray, but it's useless; the bugs could care less, and you're left coughing. You finally flee to the refuge of the tent, stomach unsatisfied, shaken up after the ordeal, just to escape the bugs. The devious, devious bugs.
     After a few days of the above, you learn to just accept your new insect friends. They're there, invitation extended or not. You take a shower, you look up, and you see a colony of spiders building a web metropolis directly over your head in the rafters. You wake up in the morning, and some unidentified bug has created a lovely egg sac right on the door of your tent. You go to the bathroom and some kind bloodsucker generously bites you on both asscheeks. Trust me, folks, if you go camping, the bugs are in charge. You're living in their world, and you're just lucky they don't decide to give you West Nile virus, or Yellow Fever.