Very well then.
Once upon a time when I was a teen, my mum and I carried a table up to my room from the garden one September, intending it as my homework table. Next morning I woke feeling a little itchy here and there, scratched lazily, turned over, felt itchy again in random places, scratched with a little more determination, turned over again, but with eyes open, and saw that me bedroom - and more to the point, my bed - was crawling with earwigs.
Fast forward fifteen years, and exH and I and the DCs rented a little holiday cabin for a week. On the way there one of the DCs said she hoped there wouldn't be earwigs because they gave mommy the heebiejeebjes, and she didn't like them either, and we said we were sure the cabin was clean and bug free and it was the wrong season for earwigs anyway.
Arrived, admired the surroundings and the view, got the keys to work, put some food in the fridge, chose beds, ran water from the taps and shower and flushed the loo, put the kettle on, and looked in the cupboard under the sink for dish detergent to wash the cabin mugs with, only to find legions of squirming earwigs running in every direction. Screamed the kind of scream you hear in movies accompanied by a scene of birds flapping off a lake, and then the camera pans out to a shot of the earth in space.
Jumped into the car and wouldn't come out again until there was proof the cabin had been sprayed within an inch of its life with Raid. I didn't let anyone unpack clothes all the same, and I didn't really relax until we got home and I had put everything we had brought with us into the washing machine.