It was a mutated monstrosity, you'd have been scared too.

I was going to revoke Winifred's rights (temporarily) as the cool mom who took her daughter to concerts. The cool mom who encouraged her three daughters to become independent thinkers. I was going to regale you with a tale, a story in which she took her college daughter to lunch (thanks!) before the bookstore, wherein she said, "Yeah, didn't some woman die from CBGB?"
I was then going to remind the reader how important CBGB was as an institution, that the founder, who fought tirelessly for his institution and was a humanitarian!, died of lung cancer last week, and how while in New York City my roommates and a merry band of friends paid our respect.
But Winifred put me in my place last night, so I won't.

I called Winifred last night around 10 p.m., interrupting her during a movie, to ask a question. She didn't mind of course, and as we discussed whatever it was I had called her about, I spied a brown spot in my living room near the couch. Usually a brown spot is an indication of a cupcake crumb, but this spot moved, and I sprang into action.
"Wait, there's a bug, don't leave me!" I cried.
"There's a what?"
"A bug! A big one!" I flew threw the air with a POM glass in one hand and a flexible cutting board in the other, landing inches from where the bug was blissfully crawling across my very clean white carpet. "Oh! It's so big, ew ew ew, please don't hang up," I begged.
"It's a bug? Squish it," she said, without pity or sympathy for her final heir.
"I can't squish it, it will ooze. It's big." I slowly and decisively attempted to cover the bug with the glass but it jumped into the air in the general direction of my face.
I also jumped into the air, in the opposite direction, and flailed my limbs.
"It's just a bug," Winifred "reasoned."
I went after the bug again, just as it began to head under the couch, a haven for bugs. (The three of us that cohabitate here refuse to move the couch to kill a bug.)
"No, it's a big bug," I said, because ranting about how it was spotted, strange, large, menacing, and squishy. I then explained how gross this breed is when my roommate picks up her sneaker and thwack!s it against the carpet or bathroom wall, and how I can't stand to look at its milky interior. Moreover, that I can't wipe off the guts from my shoes. I love my shoes that much.
I caught the bug through all of this, and squealed with delight when I had captured it between the glass and cutting board, and promptly began to shrief when it bounced from top to bottom of the glass, leaving behind part of a leg that was trapped under the glass.
"It's just a bug. Stop being such a baby," Winifred reprimanded me.
And in that moment I knew I wasn't allowed to reverse her long-standing cred.
Because she was right.