The Earwig as Fellow Earthling

The other evening I forgot a wet bathing suit outside. When I brought it into the house the next morning, about five earwigs dropped out of it and scurried away frantically.For no rational reason, I am deeply repelled by earwigs in particular.This is not fear.Earwigs are essentially harmless. They have never bitten me, attacked me, or otherwise inconvenienced me, apart from the temporary occupation of my bathing suit. They are simply earwigs. Yet something about them evokes an immediate, visceral recoil that bypasses reason altogether.Initially I found myself wondering why. Was it the pincers? The glossy exoskeleton? The way they dart for cover? I tried to dissect my reaction, as though understanding its origin might dissolve it.But then I realized I was asking the wrong question.It’s not about me at all.The more interesting question is not why I dislike earwigs, but what it is like to be one.That is, of course, a question I cannot answer. I can only circle it with the rather blunted…