April is the cruelest month of the year, or so T S Eliot said. I think he was onto something though, smart man. April, this year, has been quite an annoying month. As the chilly winds of the winter slowly fade away, and the temperature begins to rise ever so slyly, so that when it reaches 30 degrees, it actually comes as a shock of icky perspiration, the mosquitoes come out of hiding in full force, ready to attack and bite anything that moves or looks remotely human enough to bleed.
It’s bad, I tell ya, really bad. They’re everywhere, hovering in my room, under the table and around my bed, forming a wall of buzz around me when I sit outside, being anything but subtle as they fight a battle, the prime prize of which is that soft spot on my ankle perfectly ripe for biting. Mosquitoes, not only are annoying but also rather kinky, they seem to have some sort of weird fetish for biting my feet. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not five minutes go by, and I start scratching my feet madly, desperate to alleviate the itch in any way possible, even if it means scratching away my own epidermis with my own expensive fake nails.
It’s made me afraid though, of benches, gardens, grass, trees and bushes that serve as havens for those darn flying nuisances, the corner of my bed that I like to sit on when I use my laptop, which they use as their ideal mating spot. I’m even scared of going to the washroom, because they buzz around the toilet like there’s no tomorrow. Kinky, I tell ya, they get a kick out of watching us perform bodily functions. I’m even scared of going for a shower. They have a knack for sneaking up on me outta nowhere while I’m shampooing. What with all the water, I end up somehow splashing them away, yet with no success. I’ve emerged scarred and battered from the shower stalls. They’ve bitten me in places I wouldn’t even let my man get close to. Kinky, very kinky, and not quite what I’m into. *shudder*