You know, I think I was six years old before I even saw an insect. Mother said that a proper lady didn’t spend much time outdoors, at least much more than was socially required (garden parties and such), and thus I tried to follow that mandate to the letter, spending a lot of time in the parlour learning how to crochet and laugh at the jokes of the menfolk.
Then Imogen came to school one day, her butler porting in an ant farm, and I listened in utter fascination as she described how she was allowed to keep the ants in the upper levels of her quarters at the family mansion and she fed them pellets every day (that is, Antony the butler fed them every day and Imogen was allowed to watch).
Such an ecosystem! After that, I’m afraid I became rather hooked on the unladylike aspiration of finding out more about insects. Surrounding suburbs such as Frankston have pest control, where people actually try to get insects and such things out of their homes. Now, I understand people have phobias and such, but if I was at a loss to see how you could control them. In my mind, pest control was much like brain control; getting to the level of the ants and telling them (nay, asking them, more likely) to leave so that business may resume.
Obviously I was wrong there. The grounds of Whitehall Chapel are extensive, and I used to spend our Sunday family walks trying to find evidence of insect life. Apparently our gardeners are given strict orders by Daddy to remove them from our sight, because I saw very few of them. Now that I am eight, my interest has waned somewhat, mostly because I have been allowed to read about them in my computer lessons and I have found that termites can be rather odious. There are designated Frankston termite control companies to deal with the damage they cause. But still…I should like to be allowed to form my own opinion.