A desperate plea.
To all those mosquitos flying around, looking for fresh blood:
I know you like me. I don't know why, but I do know that you do. I've had multiple welts on my arms and legs as proof of this. Anytime I go anywhere vaguely tropical or hell, just humid (like the stupid South), you find me, and cover me with the most painful heat-radiating bites.
Most people get a mosquito bite, scratch at it a little and that's it. But that's not the case with me. One measly little bite, and for the next two weeks I'll have a nasty welt the size of Texas that emits - I swear - as much heat as the sun. And that's without my even scratching it. And did I mention that they bruise, without me touching them? Hell, that's just unattractive. But the scratching feels soooo good, even though I know that just makes it worse. The mere act of my skirt lightly brushing against your bites brings so much relief that I sometimes deliberately swish my skirts a little more just to get that light soothing rub.
And not only do these bites make me look like I'm carrying the plague, but they hurt. They actually cause physical pain. For some reason, you like to go straight for my joints. That means just the mere act of walking, or just crossing my legs, hurts like never before. And the pain makes me woozy and light-headed - I swear all the blood in my body is being rerouted to fueling the furnaces of inflammation, which doesn't help my already poor incapacited brain that can only think about how much the bites hurt in the first place.
Nothing makes me feel better, aside from the temporary relief of scratching. There is no cream or ointment out there that brings me solace. Even sleep doesn't help, because I can't fall asleep at night because I want to scratch the welts so badly. It's just pure evil.
I understand that you are prevalent in Puerto Rico, and in your glee for my blood you bit my poor but thankfully tan legs until I swear, my legs weren't legs at all, just big welts. I understand that when I sat by the pool in Charlottesville, which is practically the wilderness, you just couldn't help a taste or two or five gazillion, again leaving my limbs all swollen. Thankfully, you have avoided my torso, for which I can't thank you enough. All I can say again is that luckily, I was tan, so the redness was less apparent against my darkened skin. In Madison, you must be super-mosquitos, because it only took two bites to make my entire lower leg red (as opposed to the 6 it usually takes). And I wasn't even tan so the reaction was even more startling. I almost had to go to the emergency room because fuckwit's parents had never seen such a virulent reaction to mosquito bites.
But now I'm home in Los Angeles, not some tropical or godforsaken locale. And so I plead with you to leave me alone. There aren't supposed to be mosquitos in Los Angeles. I thought that all the heat and smog and pollution killed you off. It's not even humid here, and I'm not near any stagnant pools of water! And there is certainly no wilderness here, at least not where I go. For 23 years, I have remained bite-free in LA. But things have changed. Somehow, a few strong ones of you have survived, and found me Saturday evening when I was barbecuing with friends. I could barely enjoy my nice juicy steak and grilled zucchini as I was bemoaning the fact that I had again been bitten. And apparently the bites don't like the attention taken away from them, as while I was at the Hollywood Bowl, all I could do was rather inelegantly rub at your bites while trying to be classy and watch the ballet and the cool fireworks.
There are a ton of people out there. Please leave me alone and go bother them. Go bite someone who won't have such adverse reactions. Sure, it might not be as fun, but haven't you had enough fun at my expense already?
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely yours,
Me.
I know you like me. I don't know why, but I do know that you do. I've had multiple welts on my arms and legs as proof of this. Anytime I go anywhere vaguely tropical or hell, just humid (like the stupid South), you find me, and cover me with the most painful heat-radiating bites.
Most people get a mosquito bite, scratch at it a little and that's it. But that's not the case with me. One measly little bite, and for the next two weeks I'll have a nasty welt the size of Texas that emits - I swear - as much heat as the sun. And that's without my even scratching it. And did I mention that they bruise, without me touching them? Hell, that's just unattractive. But the scratching feels soooo good, even though I know that just makes it worse. The mere act of my skirt lightly brushing against your bites brings so much relief that I sometimes deliberately swish my skirts a little more just to get that light soothing rub.
And not only do these bites make me look like I'm carrying the plague, but they hurt. They actually cause physical pain. For some reason, you like to go straight for my joints. That means just the mere act of walking, or just crossing my legs, hurts like never before. And the pain makes me woozy and light-headed - I swear all the blood in my body is being rerouted to fueling the furnaces of inflammation, which doesn't help my already poor incapacited brain that can only think about how much the bites hurt in the first place.
Nothing makes me feel better, aside from the temporary relief of scratching. There is no cream or ointment out there that brings me solace. Even sleep doesn't help, because I can't fall asleep at night because I want to scratch the welts so badly. It's just pure evil.
I understand that you are prevalent in Puerto Rico, and in your glee for my blood you bit my poor but thankfully tan legs until I swear, my legs weren't legs at all, just big welts. I understand that when I sat by the pool in Charlottesville, which is practically the wilderness, you just couldn't help a taste or two or five gazillion, again leaving my limbs all swollen. Thankfully, you have avoided my torso, for which I can't thank you enough. All I can say again is that luckily, I was tan, so the redness was less apparent against my darkened skin. In Madison, you must be super-mosquitos, because it only took two bites to make my entire lower leg red (as opposed to the 6 it usually takes). And I wasn't even tan so the reaction was even more startling. I almost had to go to the emergency room because fuckwit's parents had never seen such a virulent reaction to mosquito bites.
But now I'm home in Los Angeles, not some tropical or godforsaken locale. And so I plead with you to leave me alone. There aren't supposed to be mosquitos in Los Angeles. I thought that all the heat and smog and pollution killed you off. It's not even humid here, and I'm not near any stagnant pools of water! And there is certainly no wilderness here, at least not where I go. For 23 years, I have remained bite-free in LA. But things have changed. Somehow, a few strong ones of you have survived, and found me Saturday evening when I was barbecuing with friends. I could barely enjoy my nice juicy steak and grilled zucchini as I was bemoaning the fact that I had again been bitten. And apparently the bites don't like the attention taken away from them, as while I was at the Hollywood Bowl, all I could do was rather inelegantly rub at your bites while trying to be classy and watch the ballet and the cool fireworks.
There are a ton of people out there. Please leave me alone and go bother them. Go bite someone who won't have such adverse reactions. Sure, it might not be as fun, but haven't you had enough fun at my expense already?
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely yours,
Me.
posted at 10:17
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