We have a little moth problem in our house. That is to say, we have a problem with there being lots of little moths. Although I am generally against the unnecessary murder of any creature, those moths are hateful shits that want to eat my lovely cardigans, so this is war. Still, seeing as I'm not altogether that keen on having even evil moth blood on my hands, I'm a bit rubbish at killing them.
That is the background of this horrifying tale.
I had just popped into the bathroom to powder my noise, and there, sitting on the wall, plotting new and terrible means of munching on my favourite woolens was a moth. For the purposes of this story, let's call him Grendle. I knew what I had to do; I didn't hesitate; I squashed the little bastard.
I turned around, reflecting on how ninja like I had been, only to find another moth, let's call her Grendle's Mother, flying right into my face, to exact terrible vengeance. I stepped back in a less than dignified manner, but she was set on what turned out to be a suicide mission. Grendle's Mother flew under my glasses and RIGHT INTO MY EYE! I couldn't help it, I blinked and she was squashed by the super-ninja force of my eyelid.
Obviously then I had to whip of my glasses and attempt to remove Grendle's Mother's corpse from my eyeball. Moths are fragile creatures and she didn't all come out in one go, which led, moments later, to me leaving the bathroom and asking my mum whether I had dead moth on my face, which was a sentence I had never expected to say.