Mosquitoes

Mosquitoes suck.

I woke up about seven times last night to a series of intolerable itching sensations all along my left foot and leg. Then this morning I discovered the icing on the mosquito-branded cake: two itchy, visible mosquito bites along the left side of my face.

I don’t know what this particular mosquito had against me or the left side of my body, but right now, I’m as uncomfortable as heck.

I’ve already been warned by a couple of friends to resist the urge to scratch the bites. Sure, put it on me to exercise self-control. Meanwhile, my mosquito buddy spent half the night on an uncontrollable stinging spree, digging his way into the delicious goodness of my flesh over and over again while I slept. What an asshole. Yes, I know I just called a mosquito an asshole, and that that sounds kind of weird, but if you could really understand the extent of itchiness that I am currently experiencing, then you’d also have some choice words for the creature who put you in this position.

Oh, and if one more person gives me that line about how the mosquito went after me because I’m so sweet, I will seriously hurl. No, better yet, I’ll make a point of capturing a mosquito and unleashing it against he or she who dares to utter that trite load of bull crap, because despite the solid logic behind that line of thinking, I don’t think my mosquito buddy went after me because I’m sweet, I think he went after me because I was an easy target, a tired woman who wanted nothing more than to experience a few hours of solid REM sleep before waking up the next morning to tackle the world.

So yeah, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that last night’s mosquito was a real asshole, and if I dare catch him fluttering around my house today, then rest assured, he will pay. Oh yes. He will pay.