BY KIERAN LINDSEY, PhD
Once upon a time there was a damsel(fly).
[Imagine, if you will, a bucolic Disneyesque soundtrack of flutes and piccolos in the background.]
She (or maybe he — this is a modern fairly tale) explored the lovely little pond from which s/he had recently emerged after having spent most of life underwater as a nymph.
Who would have guessed during that awkward adolescence, when growth spurts had him/her literally jumping out of her/his skin a dozen times or so, that s/he would transform from an ugly duckling into a swan? (Speaking of awkward… let’s just stick with “her” from here on out, for the sake of simplicity, shall we?)
So… today was her debut. A coming out, of sorts, and the damsel(fly) flitted here and there, enjoying the warm sun shimmering and gleaming on her iridescent wings as she dipped down to the water now and again to daintily snack on mosquito larvae.
Not a care in the world. Completely oblivious to… [Cue the ominous bassoon music] …the looming presence of a dragon(fly) on the other shore.
Not that it mattered, really. [Can I have the flutes and piccolos back, please?]
Sure, the dragon(fly) was part of the Epiprocta clan, the damsel(fly) a Zygoptera, but they were both members of the Order Odonata. No family feuds that she knew of, and so closely related were they that many folks had trouble telling one from the other without assistance in the form of a handy reference table.
They were cousins, but not kissing cousins. No interspecies hanky-panky here, even though their kind were known as having an unusual approach to romance. You see, instead of offering a wake-up kiss, the male clasps the female behind her head with a special appendage on the tip of his abdomen. IF she welcomes the embrace, instead of sliding her foot into a size 6 glass Louboutin slipper eventually she loops her abdomen forward to pick up the spermatophore from a structure on his abdomen and deliver it to her spermatheca [Latin is a romance language, remember].
I know, I know… it sounds kind of weird and kinky but trust me, it’s just hard to describe. When it’s right it’s a beautiful thing, especially when the couple forms a kind of heart with their entwined bodies [Everyone say “awwwww”].
Sometimes they even become members of the Mile-High Club, flying united for a little while. But damsel(flies) and dragon(flies) aren’t the marrying kind. They’re independent and self-sufficient — a characteristic that begins in infancy. Good thing, too, because, to be perfectly honest, the adults are neglectful parents. Dad is no prince, zooming off with hardly a backward glance at the new Mom-to-be, who’s no queen of the nursery herself. She deposits her eggs in floating plants or directly into the water and then washes her (metaphorical) hands of the responsibilities of child-rearing.
The nymphs (aka naiads) hatch and, being carnivorous little monsters, begin feeding on mosquito larvae, daphnia, tadpoles, small fish, and sometimes each other.
That happens among adults as well, although the jury’s still out on the subject of post-coital cannibalism, a not-uncommon behavior in the insect world. It’s enough to give a girl pause (although, for most insect species it’s the guy who needs to worry about fatal attractions).
Whatever. This is the 21st century and females of every stripe and species are all about DIY. Gals today don’t need a prince to save them.
Locked up in a tower? Any modern, self-respecting damsel knows you simply pull out your smartphone, Google instructions for making a rope out of sheets, and then shimmy down to freedom.
Evil stepmother? Please. Just dial the Child Abuse Hotline and tell that witch you’ll see her in court!
Face to face with a dragon? Reach for your trusty catch-pole or tranquilizer dart gun apps.
And live happily ever after.