I'm sorry, but how the HECK did you get mugged by a butterfly?! XD I'm asking because the end of that last thing you reblogged cracked me up~
Alright everyone, buckle in for the butterfly story.
So I was in New York City, which is basically the last place on Earth you expect butterflies to be an issue; I must have been about ten years old at the time. My family and I were at the Museum of Natural History, and the week we were there they had a butterfly pavilion- you know, one of those glass-and-metal half-cylinders with thousands of live butterflies flying around underneath. My family- in this case consisting of my mom, dad, grandmother (on my mom’s side), and little sister- insisted we go inside, with the exception of my dad, who wisely noped out of there. Understand that I’ve never been the biggest fan of insects; spiders in particular bother me (YES, science side of Tumblr, I know spiders aren’t technically insects; just shut up for now), but most insects tend to set me on edge. But I’d never really had a problem with butterflies up until that day.
As we’re waiting in line to go into the pavilion, I notice that there’s a sign listing the rules of the enclosure. One of them said something along the lines of: “Butterflies will rarely land on guests; however, if one does land on you, please do not attempt to remove it yourself, as this will damage the butterfly’s wings. Wait for a staff member to assist you.” This is not the kind of message that I, a ten-year-old boy who is already kind of nervous around insects, am comfortable hearing; but my mom reassured me by pointing out the first line again, saying that the butterflies probably won’t land on me.
So naturally I haven’t been in the room three seconds when a bright blue butterfly with what must have been a four-to-six-inch wingspan lands right on my leg.
I instantly go rigid with fear and begin mumbling something along the lines of “Getitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff”. This proved to be easier said than done, as there were about three people working in the entire pavilion apparently, and all of them were giving tours. It took a full five minutes for our group to successfully get the attention of a staff member. During this time, the butterfly had flown off my leg, zipped around me, and landed on my hip. My mom theorized that it thought my bright red shirt was a flower; I firmly maintain that it was engaging in psychological warfare by gradually zeroing in on my head. And just to add insult to injury, my six-year-old sister took the butterfly’s side; she was sobbing because she thought I’d hurt the butterfly, while I’m the one about to drop dead of a heart attack.
The instant the butterfly is off me, I turn and sprint out of the pavilion, calling back to my mom that I’ll meet the group at the exit. On the far side my mom apologized profusely; my little sister, on the other hand, had the gall to be indignant, on the grounds that she was the only one in the group a butterfly hadn’t landed on (other ones landed on my mom and grandmother during their tour). To this day, whenever I see a butterfly while walking around outside, I preemptively flinch away from it; maybe that means the butterfly won that day, but I’m not going to let another of those damnable insects have their way with me.
And that’s the story of how I got mugged by a butterfly.