Moths.

I hate moths. Absolutely hate them. They are disgusting, pointless, ugly, terrifying harbingers of death. Bit weird considering I quite like butterflies. That's right... I am a sufferer of Mottephobia (yes, that is the real name for it). I don't know where this admittedly irrational phobia stemmed from, but my first moth-based memory is lying in bed when I was about 10 and using a tissue to squish a moth on the wall. It left a dusty, grey smear. Sick. But honestly, what is the point of a moth? What contribution do they make to the planet? NOTHING! They are frankly too stupid to do anyone any good. They flap madly around any source of light because they think it's the sun. Morons. As soon as the sun goes down, they emerge from their hiding places and fly into different things until the sun comes up. They always wait on my front door so I can't even get into my house! Evil... In our shed in Mozambique, there was a single light bulb that hung down from the ceiling and attracted loads of moths. Obviously, this in itself made me very uneasy, but once one of them actually FLEW INTO MY FACE. GROOOOOOOOOOOSS. In English the other day my lecturer was saying how in A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche is likened to a moth. José, the spanish kid in my class, didn't know what a moth was so my lecturer put a huge picture of one up on the whiteboard and left it up for about 20 thousand trillion hours. I couldn't even look. And Laetitia thought it was really funny to see me squirming. I just don't understand how anyone can tolerate moths. They are horrifying, nauseating zombie butterflies. Beth ♥