I know hate is a pretty strong word, but that’s how I feel about mosquitoes. They just, well… suck! Other than providing food for bats, I can’t see what useful function mosquitoes play on this planet. They carry all kinds of viruses – like the ones for malaria and West Nile – and they annoy the dickens out of people like me.
Also, I have recently learned that they appear to be attracted to certain people more than to others. For example, people with type O blood. As I am O negative, mosquitoes come flocking to me like a crowd of starving cowboys to a buffet table after a long day of cattle ranching in the hot, punishing sun. In a word (several, actually), I am screwed.
In the past several months, I have enhanced the pre-existing deck in my back yard, raking up all the dead leaves and twigs that covered the ground everywhere, and even creating my own little mulch pile. In short, I have turned a once-barren and unused backyard into a nice little Oasis o’ Nature complete with tomato plants, a small herb garden, butterfly-attracting seedlings (which are supposed to grow into lots of pretty flowers), two adirondack-style chairs and even a bird bath. Heck, I’ve even been toying with the idea of purchasing a nice little hammock for my deck for summertime reading in the daytime shade and early evening hours before the sun goes down.
All of this enjoyment, however, is being ruined by tiny winged vampires. Dozens of them fly around me relentlessly looking for a piece – any piece – of exposed flesh into which to sink their demonic little blood-sucking probosci. I spend most of my time swatting them away and very little time doing what I want to do, which is to relax in my backyard oasis and enjoy a novel or simply watch the birds and squirrels do what it is that birds and squirrels do. By the time I run up the white flag of surrender and trudge resignedly up the stairs to my apartment, I am covered with a new batch of hot, angry, itchy bumps which I must now use my best self control to avoid scratching until they bleed, causing even nastier-looking scabs.
I hate mosquitoes. I really do.