Once I purchased a big sack of basmati rice. When I opened it at home, all the larvae came worming their way out. I mean there was a lot of bugs in this rice. And I knew this store tended to keep stuff on their shelves years beyond the expiration dates. So I took the sack of rice back to the store.
The kind proprietor told me it was a nothingburger and the bugs wouldn't hurt me. I said ugh. He said just to pick the bugs out. I said there's a lot of bugs. He insisted this is normal and no big deal. I think I finally managed to make the return. And I really didn't feel like shopping there again.
Growing up, my dad would say hilarious things, like "mmm, more protein" and lick his lips when he saw a bug on our food. Or, he would see a non-venomous spider in the house and say "he won't eat much." But I managed to develop a rather neurotic fear of pests. I adored beneficial insects when I was a child; I memorized all their Latin scentific names, and I purchased ladybugs and mantids at the nursery and I released them all into the garden. I would build ant farms, fascinated with their tunneling and behaviors. I used to catch butterflies just because they were beautiful. But show me a cockroach or a bedbug in my home, and I will go into a hissy fit. I don't feel like that's abnormal.