As I sit here to write I realize I have just been some pest’s late night snack. Some mosquito has secreted his way into the house and hung around long enough until I was convenient and then stole a quick draw from my upper arm. I reach to scratch almost involuntarily, then notice the pink blotchy welt on my skin. Dang it, I’ve been bit again.
I know it is not polite manners to brag about your natural gifts, abilities and assets. But somehow I don’t feel the least bit superior about this one: I am irresistible. To bugs. I have some innate, inborn magnetism that draws biting and blood sucking insects toward me. I know it is not my stunning looks or winning personality; I am certainly not offering my best self to those dang bugs. I am forever swatting at them, and scowling at my most recent, itchiest bite.
At the playground one afternoon my son found a family of daddy long leg spiders and then pleaded with my husband to go kill them all, since I refused, protecting them, claiming they eat the pesky bugs. I wanted to save those spiders: I knew they wouldn’t hurt me. But as for the ones that do come after me, my whole “kind to world, do no harm” act is off. Death to the fire ants, zap to the mosquitos and scorpion execution. I am all about capital punishment for the bugs that have assaulted me.
I wonder if I should feel bad. I’m wondering because I don’t really feel bad or wonder how I could. These vermin are eating me alive. I struggle to figure out their redeeming values or wonder if they even have souls. Blasted blood-suckers. Certainly these pests can’t be celestial creatures, right? I like to think they are hell-bound.
Since condemnation is not working, nor my disdain or outright jealousy of those who just don’t get bit, I am wondering about blood transfusions. Apparently, some people put off chemical compounds that are more delectable than other folks, and they draw the fire from others. Perhaps if I get a system recharge, new blood I could keep those bugs away. Because for me, even bug spray is not a guarantee. Bugs catch a whiff of what they want and head right over. I am hardly ever safe.
Ice that cake with my desire to avoid DEET and here I am in May already counting bug bites. It is going to be a long summer, and I have a trip planned to the jungle. I’m afraid that means counting in the triple digits, wearing a beekeeping suit, or breaking down and bathing in DEET for the trip. Currently they all sound bad. But which ever is the lesser evil, I’ll be going with that one.
Among my more petty prayers, tonight and mostly likely well into the future, I’ll be praying to leave these pests behind. Someone tell me please, that they won’t be going to heaven, because it seems they already have their heaven here, feasting on my flesh.
Are you among the lucky few that draw the mosquitoes your way? Did you paint your legs with calamine lotion growing up?