Before moving to this overpopulated swamp I was aware that the peninsula was home (and I mean the original home) to creatures dating back a couple of billion years, so the sudden appearance of smallish black bugs did not alarm me.
The pesky critters didn't seem all that menacing; kinda like lightning bugs but without the flash, and my, my, they seemed to be quite plentiful. A closer inspection revealed why: they were flying in pairs.
An even closer inspection revealed why they were flying in pairs.
Hmmmm, I thought.
Well, I hadn't really heard of seasons in Florida, I mused, but this has to be one of them. This must be the "flying black bug fornication season" that they don't mention in the tourism brochure. This could indicate why the entire state appears to be screened-in and one of the reasons "Welcome to Nirvana" does not show up on signs at the state line.
No matter. I have since learned that these phokeres d' midaire are know as lovebugs, not "love bugs" because (somehow) they do not qualify as bonafide "bugs." The aviating copulators seem quite harmless {although I've been told their splattered bodies can pit paint on a car} and oblivious to the fact that they are doing 'the nasty' in front of all to see.
Also registering on the Absolutely Freaking Stupid Scale [according to research] is this: after mating, the male dies and is dragged around by the female until she lays her eggs. {Although another source tells me she has him take out the trash prior to the airborne copulation-til-death arrangement. [makes sense]}
And (I'm told) there are a pair of two-week invasions of these ubiquitous exhibitionists during the official fornication season. {Perhaps some of those dead dudes are just catching a snooze between their filthy festivities.}
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