They’re the scourge of the season, rotten little imps of Satan, better known as the no-see-um – a close relation of the common garden variety of mosquito (for lack of a more appropriate name for them which would be acceptable in this paper). Nothing, not even the 20 bucks worth of spray I bought for them today, fazes the hungry little devils. They are, I’m sure, hell bent on making life miserable for their millions of victims and I swear they can get right through whatever you’re wearing – nothing is sacred. They don’t play fair either – any part of the anatomy is okay with them. The abominable little critters won’t let you sleep either – if you reach out your hand from under the bed covers to slap them, you automatically invite their relatives in for the feast, probably saying to them “soup’s on, ladies, come and get it”. Surely they can’t last out the whole summer, can they? If the nasty little things could talk, they’d be saying to each other: “we can’t be all bad, she wrote her whole column about us today.”
Help! They have taken me away. Amen.
