It had to be earwigs.

I have spent years hoping - nay, praying - that earwigs would never play a significant role in my life.

As a child, I lay awake at night - paralyzed with fear that earwigs would find me. Clearly - they would seek out my ears and once they had found them - they would spend their time driving me mad with their incessant....sound.

I didn't know what sound they would make. That likely made it that much worse. Would they buzz? howl? make some sort of gibbering metallic sound that would slowly eat away at whatever vestige of sanity that remained?

I was an excitable child, you realize....

In any event - over time, the fear of the savage earwig recessed - much as my love for anything associated with Sid and Marty Krofft. And yet - the desire to keep the sheets - or my hair - over my ears as I slept remained. It became rote. Ritualistic, if you will.

So imagine my horror when I found that the intriguing insects that had taken up residence on my back porch were none other than...

Earwigs.

The first night I barely slept - even though I knew that they could find no safe haven within my walls. They had haunted my childhood - how could I deny their power now?

I researched further, however. I needed to know the exact nature of my old nemesis.

And so I discovered that these earwigs were no ordinary creatures. Oh no - that would be far too....easy.

They were riparian earwigs.

As such they conjured up images of Hyacinth and Richard and half-remembered riparian entertainments.

Suddenly they were hardly as sinister as they had once appeared. I have viewed them - I have come almost close to welcoming them - provided they arrive with the proper pedigree and the requisite room for a pony.

But I refuse to cut my hair now.

One never knows when one might need it.