“May I ask a personal question?” the ant queried as the unlikely duo made it to the relative safety of a small tuft of grass.

“I don’t see why not, though I may not answer.”

“Fair enough,” the ant quipped, though he paused at the unexpected disclaimer, “Are you a boy or a girl great woolly thing?”

“That is quite personal,” scoffed the caterpillar.

“Well, I did preface it as such.”

“Quite right, you did. But why ask such a question?”

The ant delayed, scanning the ground with compound eyes and delicate feelers. The ant’s hill-mates had been by here recently, leaving the familiar trace scent. As much as insects can, the poor little ant sighed.

The caterpillar shuffled pseudopodia over to approach the ant, “Why so forelorn, newfound friend?”

“That’s a lot of ‘F’s,” stalled the ant. The caterpillar only stared, a concerned and interested stare, so the ant continued, “Life isn’t all it’s made out to be as one of identical millions. I like variety, you see, and I think…I think I fancy you.”