Sunday, October 25, 2015

A letter to the mosquitos in our apartment

Dear Moustique Tigre,

I cringe when I hear your faint buzz get louder and louder, closer and closer.

While you might not be as pesky as the mosquitos in Wisconsin who swarm and have me constantly swatting, you are sure sneaky little devils.

Some nights in our apartment I don't hear you at all, but then I'll wake up with a nice big bite. Or two. Or three. Or more. You don't mind giving them in the most uncomfortable places either—back of the hand, earlobe, my face, my right ring finger near the knuckle (boy did that ever swell up with a little scratching), and, oh right, my eyelid!

I somehow didn't realize how stealthy you were until Friday night.

True, you hadn't waken me up; I had randomly woken up and gone out to read my book in the living room so as not to wake Damien. When he got up to use the bathroom a half hour later, I decided to try and go back to bed.

That's when you began. Buzz buzz.

Using the flashlight tool from his smartphone, Damien tracked you down and ended you with one smack.

Just to be sure there weren't more of you, he moved the light around the room. I was searching for anything flying through the air, but wasn't seeing anything. Phew, I thought, that must have been it!

But then I heard a "putain!" (shit!) from Damien. He saw you sitting there quietly in the corner. Just sitting still on the wall, waiting for us to sleep again so you could taste our sweet blood.

From that point on, Damien kept pacing around the room, flashing his light on everything. After we'd destroyed three or four of you, when we thought there couldn't possibly be more, there you'd come again—preventing us from getting any shut-eye.

Combined we killed at least six or seven of your crew during the next hour. I'd had no idea there had been so many of you in the room when we heard that first buzz, because you're sneaky little shits. Two of you were sitting up on the light shade, two more on the ceiling. Just staking out, plotting your attack.

Now your flattened bodies are scattered across the floor, and your blood, stained on the walls.

But not all of you.

Somehow we never got all of you.

Finally, Damien decided to just throw his shirt over his face and retreat back under the covers. I did the same, but my face got too hot, so I uncovered it.

You rewarded me with a nice, big bite on the forehead.

Upon waking up the next morning, I was both surprised and not when I killed two more of you. Where the heck were you hiding out? How on earth were there more?

Now I'm lying in bed about to sleep again. We just smacked two of you guys and I haven't heard a buzz since then. Will it be a restful night, or will you attack when least expected?

If we get any say in the matter, please leave us alone and never come back.


P.S. Well, well, well. So you did return on Saturday night. We heard you loud and clear, and are feeling your bites today.

Update: 10/26/15 — Yesterday Damien bought some mosquito-killing contraption that you plug into an outlet, and we think it's actually working!
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