World's cutest infestation

Ladybug! Ladybug!
Fly away home.
Your house is on fire.
And your children all gone.

All except one,
And that's little Ann,
For she crept under
The frying pan.

This long running rhyme is totally bizarre and furthers my thought that just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

That said, the first stanza (pow! Where'd I pull that out of, huh? Stanza? Man, that's almost as good as pangea...) perfectly describes my house at the moment. Because Ladybugs... y'all gots to go home. Didn't your mothers teach you company was like fish: after three days it starts to stink. Seriously. How long can you guys and gals hang around my drapes and lamp shades? I don't even understand how you're getting in here! To quote Mitch, it's like I have an infestation of cute.

I feel like I'm eight again, trapping stray ladybugs in glass jars and releasing them into the wild (read: a cold, slow death, but perhaps better than through the taunting over sized paws of a cat with too much time on his... err... hands?)