Bug-phobia

It’s six AM. I’m jarred from my sleep by the terrified screams of my three year old son Ben. “What’s going on?” I wonder. I gracefully spring from my bed. I can see the hall light creeping under the bedroom door, and I take a guess as to what is happening. “He woke up, and looked for us, and then he panicked when he didn’t find us”, I think to myself. I quicken my pace toward the source of the dreadful cries, intent on comforting my poor naïve child. He must be terrified. My poor child thinks he’s been left alone, and he’s terrified.

I turn the corner, and find myself in the living room. Ben is in view now, but something isn’t right. His Grandpa is with him. Why is he crying then? They’re both in the kitchen. Ben is still frantic, but Grandpa is calm, and composed. What could be wrong?

As I approach I ask what’s going on, and Grandpa tells me what happened. “A fly landed on him while he was eating his cereal.” Oh, no wonder he was wailing at 500 decibels at six in the morning. I’m back in bed, asleep before Ben can say “There’s a fly in my Corn Pops.”