Neuroscientist: 0 Beetle: 1

A confession from the jungle

White Woman in the Jungle episode 3

I was two hours into a good series, tucked into my bed - which is elevated high enough that I have to actually jump off of it - when nature called.

I swung my legs over, leaped down, and landed approximately eighteen inches from a creature that looked like it had escaped from a 1950s monster movie.

Four and a half inches long. Massive pincers. Waving legs. Antenna probing the air.

It was on its back, which should have told me something. But I wasn't thinking. I was doing the bug dance.

The bug dance, for those unfamiliar, is a full-body convulsion accompanied by sounds no dignified woman should make. It involves hopping, shrieking, and flapping your hands as if that will somehow help.

I retreated to my bathroom, heart pounding, and grabbed the first weapon I could find: a cast iron pot that used to sit on my wood stove in Idaho. The lid is shaped like a dragon - steam comes out the nostrils. The whole thing weighs about ten pounds.

I crept back to the beetle.

I held the pot above it.

I let go.

THUD.

Surely that would do it.

I looked down.

The pot was not flat on the ground. Two legs and an antenna were sticking out from under the edge.

Still moving.

I pushed down until I heard the crunch.

Then I left the pot there overnight. I wasn't lifting that thing until I was absolutely sure nothing was going to move.

By noon the next day, I finally worked up the courage to look.

Dead.

I took a picture and sent it to my kids.

Turns out, it was a Macrodontia batesi. Harmless. An adolescent female.

I murdered a teenage girl with a dragon pot because I didn't take two seconds to look at what I was dealing with.

In my defense, I'm getting better.

Last week, something flew into my house making the most horrific creaking noise - like old hinges on a crypt door. In the dark, I was sure it was a bat.

Bug dance. Screaming. Full panic.

But this time, I did not reach for a weapon. I retreated to my bedroom, shut the door, turned on a movie, cranked the volume, and prayed that whatever it was would find its way out by morning.

It did.

Turns out it was a locust. Which is really just a grasshopper with ambition.

Now, I'd like to tell you I spared it because I've grown. Because I've learned to pause before I react. Because the jungle is teaching me to live and let live.

The truth is I was too scared to get close to it.

So here's my resolution for 2026:

Before I drop a ten-pound dragon pot on something, I will take a breath. I will look. I will ask myself: Is this actually a threat, or is it just a teenage beetle having a bad night?

I cannot promise I will stop doing the bug dance.

But I can promise to try - try - not to murder any more adolescent females in the process.

Happy New Year from the jungle.