|It is a dark time for the Rebellion...|
Also, I have an observation to make about my own behavior; this goes under Garden Psychology, if there is such a field. When I'm outside, in the garden, I sometimes wear gloves, but half of the time I take them off and forget to put them back on, so I'm bare-handed. And those who have worked with me know that I am not squeamish about picking up worms, bugs, etc., as long as I know they're not going to bite me.
That's outside. For some reason, this does not carry over to interiors. Now, long ago I used to be bug-phobic; I'd go all Annie Hall over spiders and so forth, but I got over that, and I can handle bugs in the house... just not with my bare hands. Out in the garden: pick the stink bugs off the plants and squish them, preferably with gloves on, but I have been known to do it without, and I can certainly take having them crawl on my bare skin. In the house: I always use a tissue to carry them to the toilet for flushing, or a piece of cardboard to knock them into a jar of soapy water. Out in the garden I pick up inconvenient worms and fling them away (gently, although I do confess that if my cat is "helping" me garden I let him pounce on the worms. I'm sure this is evidence of a deep-seated psychosis). Inside, I use wooden spoons or pieces of stiff cardboard to push my Rebel Worms back to their labor below or to poke around in the Worm Mines to see what's going on. (On the other hand, I then wash the wooden spoon and use it to stir my dinner, so I'm still sure to gross someone out.)
I suspect this means that, deep down, I don't think bugs and worms belong in the civilized (sort of) atmosphere of my house, which of course they don't, but I'm not sure why I can't touch them to put them in their rightful place, while having no problem doing that outdoors. The worm bin brings composting indoors, so it may eventually bridge the gap. Not that I stick my bare hands in outdoor unfinished compost either.