‘Oh come on, little beetle,’ I said. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t crawl around the floor when I’m up and about. I might accidentally tread on you, then you’d be dead and I’d be mortified.’
I thought the juxtaposition of ‘dead’ and ‘mortified’ quite clever in the circumstances, but the beetle just looked confused.
* * *
Twilights aren’t the same now that summer has run its course. No moths, you see, just snails. I’m becoming uncommonly fond of snails, but whereas moths suggest Titania and her entourage, snails merely remind me of The Magic Roundabout.