Butterflies are named after a guilty pleasure found in fine French cuisine. They flit around all day-- these achingly beautiful socialites-- dining exclusively on dewdrops and fresh flowers, posing intermittently to inspire women's hair accessories or adorable preschool art projects. On their worst days, they serve as the perfect metaphor for personal transformation.
Moths are suicidal insomniacs whose name is derived from the Old English term for "maggot". These insane fire worshippers will straight up throw themselves into open flames because they live pathetic lives and have nothing to lose. They drink liquid animal dung, and their urchin offspring are raised with an appalling lack of family values: they will gleefully eat your favorite clothes (specifically, sentimental sweaters from dead relatives). How COULD they?
Of course, most of these distinctions are contrived. Both creatures undergo a complete metamorphosis from egg to caterpillar and from chrysalis to adult. Both slurp flower nectar, or animal dung, or tree sap, although most of the next generation is reportedly getting hooked on Jamba Juice. Some moths are total hotties and some butterflies are, meh.
All I'm saying is, butterflies aren't better than you. And moths don't deserve to die.
But we're only human, and we need a narrative with a hero and a villain. Life is tiring; all we ask is a few simple things to love and hate at the end of a long day.
Don't even get me started on lobsters and cockroaches.
My name is Nasreen. I write micro essays, one-liners, and other small things. Most of them were funny at some point, at least to me.