Do My Bidding, Mosquito Army!

I LOVE My Forest.

The emerald sky where I live is pierced with shades of blue beyond. Birds sing their lewd songs to each other during the spring and scream at their children during the summer creating a cacophony of sounds that we humans describe as beautiful. Fireflies light up our summer and autumn nights with flickering and fluttering eloquence, and an opossum has been adopted as a nocturnal snuggle/dinner buddy by the colony of rescue cats that I hold responsibility over and has even on occasion let me run my fingers gently over its back side (before saying: "Okay. That's enough, friend" by politely walking away). And the cicadas sing us to sleep every night. It's peaceful, it's quiet, no noisy human interference, and you can see the stars for miles. And come morning, (especially in the cooler months when the morning fog lifts off the ground in opalescent swirls of cloud low to the ground) we are greeted by little families of deer.

But you know what I don't love about my forest?

Bugs. You know, other than the dragonflies, ladybugs, cicadas, fireflies, and butterflies (though they can keep their pre-pubescent offspring OFF of my garden, THANK YOU! I swear... some parents these days...)

There are centipedes that are over 3 feet long (only a slight exaggeration), spiders the size of golf balls (especially when those mooching squatting spider bitches carry those thousands of hooligans on their backs - mother bears have NOTHING on mama wolf spiders in terms of terrifying, OKAY?), chiggers, and those weird fluffy aphid things that nest on the underside of leaves and then blow everywhere, and people are like "Oh look! Dandelion seeds!" And you're dancing around because they are itching you and ATTACKING YOU for having the audacity to walk under the tree they were living in.

But the ultimate offense of the forest... is the mosquitos. It doesn't matter how many opossums you adopt, or chickens you flock, or how much citronella you plant... or how much bug spray you put on... those mosquitos WILL find you. And they WILL...EAT...YOU!

I Loathe That The World NEEDS Mosquitoes.

For the copious amounts of agony they bring, mozzies are detrimental to the world. Bats, other helpful not parasitic bugs, and many other animals NEED mozzies. There is a huge population of animals that survive off of these tiny little demons. And they know it. They KNOW they can take you out to dinner without your consent because there are MILLIONS of them.

THEY ARE LEGION!

And they MUST be legion for our world not to collapse. Some of the most important pollinating species on the planet survive because of diets based heavily around these blood-sucking personal space violators for bugs. And we probably couldn't eradicate a species with BILLIONS AND BILLIONS of bugs, full of different species and all if we wanted to.

What has brought on my sudden rampage about mosquitos?

Mistakes my friends. One or two little but GINORMOUS mistakes.

I went to feed the chickens. We were out of Deet. But we were doing the monthly spray down of the cats with the Adams Flea and Tick Spray. I looked at the bottle and read the words: "Repels Mosquitos." So I sprayed my legs and arms with it. Because the chickens have to get fed and watered, and for some reason, even though I'm an A blood type which supposedly is Mozzie's "least" favorite, I have ALWAYS been the tastiest treat around to those little flying bastards. And I am willing to put chemicals not meant for humans on my skin for my feathered friends.

I was wearing shorts and a tank top. Because it's hot. I thought the spray would work. Halfway through the watering and the feeding, I am smacking my body, battling hordes of these tiny winged blood-sucking hell beasts while my girls (the chickens) are at my feet, unconcerned with the morsels that are eating away at my ankles. They only care about the treats that I brought them. The mean rooster, who I have very slowly been rehabilitating from a life full of humans that made him extremely aggressive, eyes me from his safe spot in the back of the pen where I am training him to stay while I am in the coop.

If he could talk, he would have said: "What in the holy redneck hell is wrong with you? Do you have to pee or something, you weirdo?"

As I wiggled in place, stomping my feet and batting at what most people would think are invisible enemies, holding the water hose in the other, he intentionally waddles around and slinks further away from me, his eyes never going off of me.

Perhaps the rooster will have mistaken my flailings as a weird pre-mating ritual dance like he does when he's about to pin one of my girls to the floor and take what he wants, and he'll stop coming near me entirely so I can check my eggs in peace.

I make a mad dash for the house. I turn off the watering hose and start chanting as I struggle to pull the hose in and hang it on its hang out. I'm still dancing, and now there are BIG mosquitos closing in. I reach down and smack one, leaving a dime-sized splatter of my own blood from the explosion of the little bastard's body.

I lament to them about how they should ask for consent, before inviting their entire family to their wedding, the catering menu being MY life source! I frantically pull the hose in chanting: "Almost done. Almost done. Get the hose on the hangout. If you don't do it now, you'll forget and then you will DESERVE the bites! Almost done! Almost done! Get the hose on the hangout..."

(It's a 150-foot hose. And my chicken coop is about 120 feet away from the house. And I do not have it on a reel.... because honestly, I didn't think of a damn reel until I was typing just now. Now I know what I am asking for for Christmas.)

When I burst into the house, I almost fell over my feet, trying to escape the horde of the mozzie bridal party before entering my sanctuary. My entire family's heads turn to me as I pop up from the ground, gyrating and humping the air in uncontrollable motions.

It's like the worst burlesque dance anyone's ever had to endure.

"CALAMINE!" I scream nonsensically, as my arms flail and I now begin slapping at my arms and legs frantically. "DONT SCATCH!" I yelped out loud at myself viciously.

My men jump into action. Bubba dashes for the medical kit, pulls out the lotion, and then tosses it to my husband, who delivers it with the cap already open. I dance in one place, spinning around in strange, twitching, seizure-like movements as I douse myself in copious amounts of pink filament.

My two-year-old son doesn't know what drugs are, but whatever they are... in his mind Mommy is surely doing them. His brown eyes are wide as I begin to sob while frantically splashing calamine lotion on myself, all the while my body creepily thrashing in weird, twisted motions.

When I begin to cry, Bubba gets serious. His head disappeared into the giant medical kit bucket we have, and you hear thrashing around in the pocket dimension where he has every medical supply known to mankind.

A small white tube was between his fingers when he re-entered the physical plane of existence and he handed it to me, while I gyrated, seized, smacked, scratched, and sobbed, now sitting helplessly in a chair. There's a triumphant smirk on his face and I look at the tube.

And beholden to me was the national treasure of... TOPICAL BENADRYL CREAM.

As the itching subsides, the ability to process 'thinking' comes back to me, and my body quits acting of its own accord I have a dark thought. I guess it's part of the process of coming out of a near-death experience.

I look at my husband and brother, and with absolute conviction, I say to them: "If the apocalypse happens, and it's kill or be killed by other humans... All we have to do is incapacitate them, tie them to a tree, and I will cut myself and bleed on them. Upon my sacrifice, they will do our bidding. Also, we need a better mosquito repellant for our animals."

Time is precious, thank you so much for taking some to read my article. I hope you enjoyed it and it proved useful in some way!

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