Bed bugs in the New York Times, bed bugs in the Huffington Post, bed bugs on the BBC, and NPR.
Forget all that, Mr. Cimex Lectularius!
You know you’ve arrived when people write about you in McSweeney’s, which promises us not just one, but an entire series of pieces about bed bugs:
Like the Jonas Brothers, bedbugs are everywhere. They were even found, unlike the Jonas Brothers, in the apartment of Alan Good, the author of this column, which we’ll bring you, every other week or so, observations on and news and harrowing tales of the aforementioned insidious parasites.
We love bed bugs being discussed in the media, period.
But personal tales of bed bug woe are often more informative than researched news spots. There’s nothing like a personal narrative to convey the length and depth of disruption to one’s life that a bed bug infestation can cause.
My favorite part of Alan Good’s initial bed bug column, however, is the ending:
There will always be doubt, anxiety. Bedbugs, to me, indicate cosmic hostility. Either God doesn’t exist, or God exists and hates us or at least isn’t fond of us. I cannot accept that a loving God would create a creature whose sole purpose is to feast on the flesh of his so-called children. I find inspiration in these lines from “The City of Dreadful Night” by James Thompson:
The vilest thing must be less vile than Thou/From whom it had its being, God and Lord!
Maureen believes in God, and she believes God, who is loving and good, has a reason for everything he creates. This must include bedbugs, so one day she asked a priest who works at the shelter why bedbugs even exist. He answered that, while they probably have some sort of evolutionary function, they might just be here to annoy us.