My sense of home

Aphids plant their appendages in the invisible pumice holes that dot the outer facade. The tiny nicks cover my home. They have ruined my feeling of comfort. I am inside this egg, suspended and warm, then, wishing for something smooth, and now aware of the appendages playing hopscotch in the holes outside. But I don't need choking clouds of bugspray. I have music. I turn it loud. I regain my sense of home without having to crack this shell and kill them.