This morning when I walked out to my car, a little monarch butterfly was waiting for me on the sunroof. From the agitated way his wings were clamped together, it seemed that I had kept him waiting. I reached out my hand to show I was sorry, and he stayed still and let me pet the edge of its wing.
"Oh no...Are you just dead and petrified, little guy?" I whispered. "Am I just standing here petting a dead bug?"
Indignant, he swept off. To settle on the hood. Although to be fair, I guess that's a respectable distance for a butterfly.
"If you wanted a ride, you could've just asked," I said. "I would've let you sit on the steering wheel and everything. As it is, I'm late and have no time for your moods. Oh--good morning, Mr. Henderson!" I wish I could say this is the first time my neighbor has caught me in the middle of a one-sided conversation.
I shut the door and started the engine. The butterfly stayed where he was. I turned one corner, and then another, and he clenched on with his little butterfly feet (Do butterflies have feet? Grippers? I have no idea how he stayed on, honestly) and his entire body flapped in the breeze until it was almost horizontal. Finally as I was waiting to turn onto the main road, he took off back the way we'd come.
"You're welcome!" I shouted. That butterfly carried way more drama than I had time for, but it would have been fun to sneak him into work with me.
The moral of this story is that butterflys are ungrateful and also I don't know the plural form of butterfly because it's so early.
Image via Comic Vine.
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