So, you know that moth who met his maker on my van's dashboard? In a bed of dust? And who lay there, without proper burial -- uh, disposal -- for a couple of weeks?
Well, his relatives have come seeking vengenace. They've taken up residence in my closet and instructed their larvae (don't you just hate that word?) to feast on my clothes.
I suppose I deserve it. I've read the Iliad. I know the importance of a proper burial.
But still. Does it HAVE to be moths? Ugh.