Nothing to See Here…

What about the mother-f*&%$#@ mosquitos in my mother-f*&%$#@ backyard?  Huh?  What about them?

Let me tell you how I feel about mosquitos.  I hate them with the white-hot passion of a can of deet.  HATE them.

And yet?

They love me.  They love me like Romeo loved Juliet.  Like Richard Simmons loves short shorts. Like Jared loves Subway.  THAT much.

I cannot move around outdoors ever without getting bit up by mosquitos.  I could join an antarctic exploration group where the temperatures are sub-zero and I’m wearing seventeen layers of clothing and I’m in a group of a hundred and sixty-eight people.  We would gather at the end over hot chocolate and marshmallows, thawing out, and they’d all be comparing their frostbitten toes and fingers and I’d point to my left calf and say “There.  See that?  I got a mother-f*&%$#@ mosquito bite while we were out there.  Can you f*&%$#@ believe it???”

People, I’m not kidding.  I have a bite on my EAR.  Some mother-f*&%$#@ stupid mosquito sized up my mother-f*&%$#@ EAR and decided there was a meal’s worth of blood there.  My EAR.

I cleaned the patio on Monday evening and that activity, thirty minutes of outdoor work, resulted in no fewer than fifteen mosquito bites.  I have them all up and down both legs, three on my left elbow and then the one on my mother-f*&%$#@  EAR.

I can be outside with a group of people and not one of them will get bitten even once, and yet I will need treatment for malaria.  It’s ludicrous.

I’ve tried all the remedies… Take a multivitamin.  You need vitamin B.  You must lack Vitamin E.  Use Skin-So-Soft.  Make sure the product you choose has deet.  Dab a little toothpaste on the bites to stop the itching.  Oh, wait, that last one wasn’t about prevention.  There is a whole other list on treatment after the fact.

Sigh.

Why do the little f*&%$#@  have it out for me?  What did I ever do to them?  This innate sweetness I have that attracts them (and let’s face it, I’m f*&%$#@ sweet!) is nothing I have chosen, nor do I know how to modify myself to be less sweet.  I suppose I could live with attracting mosquitos if my inner sweetness also worked at attracting hot young men, rich sugar daddies, publishers of writers with a modicum of talent, well-disciplined children, and/or a fast and efficient metabolism.  But, no… this sweetness attracts none of those things. 

Instead, I attract mosquitos, dust bunnies, and cellulite.

No f*&%$#@ fair.

So if you wonder “How does she do it?  How does she work and keep house and blog and decoupage and darn socks and write comedy for Jay Leno?  Well, first let me say that I don’t do most of those things.  The ones I do do (haha  I said doo-doo) are done indoors - where the mosquitos have not yet infiltrated.

For now, I am safe.

I swear to god, I would adopt every one of those mother-f*&%$#@ snakes on that mother-f*&%$#@ plane and feed them baby kittens from my very own hand as long as they promised to eat the mother-f*&%$#@ mosquitos.

And that’s no mother-f*&%$#@ lie.