It's lovebug season in Florida. Again. Twice a year these little pests have their mating season, and that involves pairs of the insects, one male and one female, flying around aimlessly, attached at the ass end, seeking out the shortest path to your windshield as you're driving down the highway.
They're not the smartest of insects. In fact, they're not much smarter than most plants. During a two week mating period, hundreds of thousands of them meet their demise by being embedded into a speeding radiator grill. It's like the old joke once said, "What's the last thing that goes through the mind of a female lovebug? The male." It's not uncommon for your car to leave the driveway sparklingly clean, and arrive at your destination looking like something CSI should be investigating.
What's even worse is trying to do anything outdoors during this time. They don't bite or spread disease, but there's so many of them that it's near impossible to breathe without a half-dozen of them shawshanking their way to your nasal cavity. They get into everyting; your home, your car, your clothes, that little flap of skin-fat that separates North Waist and South Waist. The outside walls of your house looks like a miniature set for a revival of Hitchcock's "The Birds".
Thankfully, once their annoyance starts to peak, it's soon over. And I suppose it could be worse for us Floridians. We could have to deal with hurricanes, tropical depressions, lightning, one of the Bush brothers, rednecks, blue hairs, hanging chads, humidity, sunburn, shark attacks, alligators, mosquitos, and Disney. If we had those things, this state would suck.