As an ex-zookeeper, things that would make grown men jump on chairs and squeal in fear don’t phase me. What sends me into utter panic, you wonder?
Fat furry flying posers. Things that fly should not be furry, except bats–which are actually flying rats. Mother Nature, fail.
One of my New Year’s resolutions is to do a better job of eating healthier. My life is an epicurean journey, so standard diets are a no-go, but thanks to my borderline unhealthy Pinterest addiction, I found thousands of ideas on easy, healthy breakfasts. There was one that I really, really loved: refrigerator oatmeal. You take Greek yogurt, add raw rolled oats, add flax (because flax=regularity. BOOM), fruit, honey, and whatever. Then you let it sit, and come breakfast time; you have a delicious, filling, wholesome start to your day. So easy.
I’ve been noshing on this concoction throughout my day for weeks. So this morning, when I went to stir up my breakfast, I saw a tiny triangular shape amid my flaxseedoatmeal silo. I leaned in close to investigate.
With my eyes squinted narrow to examine the details of something I know I didn’t add to the mix, I moved some grain aside with my fingernail. It was a moth. A dead baby moth. I saw a pet cemetery of yogurty graves of dead baby moths.
I screamed and pincher finger removed this mistake of nature, trying to wipe my mind clean of what I had just seen. I have children; I had to move on with my day. But the Smeagol versus Gollum conversations took hold and froze me in place.
::stomach growling:: Lindsay, you know you’ve eaten bugs before, accidentally and on purpose. Let it go.
But it’s a moth. I have to draw the line somewhere.
FEED PRECIOUS. FEED PRECIOUS NOW. OR ELSES WE GETS HANGRY.
No! If there’s one, there’s more! You could stand to skip a meal!
BUT WE WANTS IT! OUR PRECIOUS.
I stared at my yogurt for a few more minutes, toying with the detached good-for-you knowledge of bugs adding extra protein to keep me full until lunch, along with stronger nail beds. Then my paranoid nature grabbed hold and I decided to look at the baggie of oats and flax I toted to work every day.
Baby moths dotted the inside of the clear bag. OHMYGOD. Not just a scattering, a colony: everywhere. Dead, spot-on camouflaged within the brown oats.
Mother Nature, checkmate.
I have been eating dead baby moths for weeks.
Your take away lesson? No matter how shitty your day may be, rest assured that moths for breakfast probably aren’t on your list of shit from that day.
That is, until we find out that moths are indeed an amazing organic source of renewable protein, at which time I’ll buy rights to Vikki’s slogan and we’ll be millionaires: “Take flight with MothMeal-the breakfast that gives you wings!”
About the Author
Lindsay Maloan is a Jill of All Trades. She can take purty pictures, arrange the snot out of some flowers, sew a dinosaur hoodie for your wee T-Rex, and she knows most of the words to “Baby Got Back.” If you are lost in the woods, Lindsay won’t help you survive, but she can name the tree you lay down to die under. You can find more of her many words and deeds on her blog, With A Little Love and Luck.
Oat image from ehow.com