I post this picture only to make a point. A shuddering, gagging point.
How is it that I can have this reaction to just a picture of an insect...
[disgusted, shuddering scream while covering mouth so bug won't fly out of picture and down my throat]
... and still think Nina Bagley and Jane Wynn's necklace pendants are gorgeous? I just finished reading the latest post on Ornamental, and almost went permanently cross-eyed trying to read the text without seeing the cicada pictures.
Some of my favorite designs they've created are modeled on insects. So on the one hand, I'm reminded that I live in a place where there are
[THANK YOU JESUS]
very few large bugs, but at the same time I like their ornamental representations. I love the fragility of the wing structure, the delicacy of their limbs, but... to have the insect use those wings... to fly near me for some unknown reason...
Can't type. Skin has crawled right off my body.
I'm almost as bad as the "Letty Bell" character from Little Britain who loves frog toys and other paraphernalia. Just not, you know, the real thing. I think the part of my brain that is grossed out by the buggy reality must sit right next to the part that's fascinated by surgery reality shows.