Mosquito season. Go ahead and kill me.
When I moved to Savannah at the end of last summer, I quickly learned that mosquitos are a part of life in swampy wetlands such as Coastal Georgia. My sweet, nectar filled, alabaster skin was dotted with pink, vengeful bites that never stopped itching, almost to the point of an unbearable pain.
Well, I had long forgotten this dreadful season…until a few weeks ago, that is. Without warning (and seemingly overnight) the ‘squitos were back and out for blood.
Here I sit, currently victim to 17 bites on my feeble little body. Three of which are all on one digit of one finger! And no matter how many pesky pest I mercilessly squash with this month’s rolled up issue of Elle, they keep a-comin’. Even now with no light on but the screen of my computer, I hear the insatiable buzz of a predator bug waiting for the second my eye lids to surrender and I become property of his slaughter. He taunts me as I type and I see him whizzing back and forth in front of my screen.
As much as I want to fight back and defeat my winged foe, I know that tomorrow when I wake, I’m likely to find a few more landmarks commemorating the mosquitos victory over my defenseless flesh.
I’m going to bed now, so to all those ‘squeets waiting in the shadows: Take me. I am ready.