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Meet the Columnist

Columnist, Sheila Moss, is humor writer from  Tennessee. She writes  a weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny things that happen to everyone.

   She has written for  the Daily News of Kingsport,   Griffin Journal, Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton Advocate,  and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News Journal. She has been published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks at Guidepost Books.  Her articles have appeared in numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.

    She is a former board member and past  Editor of  the Columnists.com, website of  the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, the oldest and largest professional organization for columnists. She is the Web Editor of Southern
Humorists.com
  and  a founder of the Southern Humorists writers' organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com

    To carry her weekly column in your newspaper, or to republish an article, please contact her. It's that easy. 

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Attack of the Butterfly....
 


Attack of the Butterfly

It soared past me like a bat from hell. "What is that?" I thought. I had just finished pumping gas and was climbing back into my car. Before I could close the door, the monstrous butterfly flew in behind me and executed a ten-point landing on the armrest between seats.

"Thatís the biggest butterfly Iíve ever seen," I thought. No way am I closing the door with that thing in my carÖ"shoo!"

The butterfly was oblivious to me.  "Look, I donít take hitchhikers!" I spewed. It didn't leave..

I climbed out, leaving the car door open. Maybe it simply needed a bit of gentle encouragement to direct it to the door. I couldnít bring myself to touch it. Of course, I couldnít find a thing in the car to swat it with except an old church bulletin. I attempted to nudge it toward the open door, but it only moved to a spot further away from me where I couldnít reach it. .

"Iíll open the hatchback and maybe it will fly out. Get, bug!" It bared its fangs at me. Okay, maybe it was antenna, but it sure looked like fangs.

I went to the other door and opened it, the better to swat at the bug. I couldnít do it. I didnít want to kill it, just to get rid of it. The church bulletin was a pretty flimsy weapon, but I nudged it again. Apparently, it was not impressed by the schedule of upcoming church events, because it still refused to leave.

"This is getting ridiculous!"  It must like sports cars. Why else would anyone prefer to drive instead of flying? I briefly considered throwing it the car keys, and saying, "Take it, the tank is full." No one will ever believe I was carjacked by a bug with a fear of flying.

I was beginning to get that helpless female feeling that I hate, but tried to devise a plan. Tear gas? Mace? 911? I donít think so. About that time a knight in shinning armor came out of the gas station. Okay, it was only a guy in a T-shirt and jeans who had paid for his gas and was headed for his pickup truck. Who says knights have to wear armor these days?

I appealed to his macho side. "Are you afraid of bugs?" I yelled around the gas pump.

He looked at me dumbly, and shook his head "no." Big mistake.

"Would you mind getting this bug out of my car?" I asked, not mentioning that a moth the size of Count Dracula was lurking behind the passenger seat.

He came over to investigate, armor clinking. Apparently the moth, butterfly, or whatever it was, sensed I was bringing in reinforcements and decided to retreat. With a swish and flutter of wings, it suddenly took flight and shot out the door right past Lancelotís face. He ducked and we watched in wonder as the moth did a hammerhead and several double loops before it streaked away into the wild blue yonder. I half expected it to leave a trail of smoke behind.

"Well, guess you donít have to do anything after all" I said. He seemed relieved to be excused from duty.

I quickly slammed my car doors and sped away, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror for a butterfly with fangs coming up behind me at 80 mph. So far that is the last Iíve seen of the thing, though.

The butterfly is probably back at the cocoon right now telling his mate what a bad day he had, and how he is late getting home from work because he accidentally flew into the car of a crazy lady who assaulted him with a church bulletin.


Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
 
 



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