A mosquito bit me

A mosquito bit me and she didn’t even care to say hello. Usually she greets me or rather warns me. Either way it’s not a polite curtsy. It’s a noisy unwelcomed approach. Yes she is a she, I once heard about her. Apparently she needs to feed on my young black sweet blood for the sake of her demon offspring who will then also grow to want to feed on me all over again.

I guess I should be happy you don’t carry disease, like you kin in other parts of the world. If only annoyance and disregard for sleep were recognised by WHO…it’s a pity.

I know where they all mate, lay their eggs and generally reside. It’s all outside my window, in my beautiful garden. They pay no rent and are the worst tenants in history.

Generations of the same family have been biting me, grandmothers, mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts etc. For their survival I’m up at two in the morning typing this shit up.

I read somewhere that mosquitoes tend to bite more attractive people as they’re drawn to them because they’re deemed to be more fertile. Good blood is better for the eggs. The one time I wish I was a menopausal man. I don’t even know how attractive I am. If I was visiting a home of less attractive people, who had as many mosquitoes, I’d be able to know my worth on the mozzie exchange. At this point to them I’m probably that whore who sleeps topless with tiny boxers…I’m easy…I’m a floozy.

A mosquito bit me tonight. She doesn’t care who I am. My revenge can only be murder. I could take this chance to be a chivalrous mozzie slayer. But I’d rather commit literary genocide on my blog. It’s time better spent, since I know they’ll be coming back for more tomorrow.

“God sends the meat, the devil sends the cooks”, by Thomas Deloney, had to be about mosquitoes.