I Hate Mosquitoes

Yes, I realize that's kind of like saying I hate child molesters, Adolf Hitler, and Windows Vista, but my hatred for these slender biting flies surpasses my hatred for nearly every other loathed thing in my list of things to loath. First off, I'm apparently made up of Mosquito crack. The little buggers will fly past other people (including K) to come straight to me. Secondly, the little bastards leave huge welts on me that itch for days after the bite.

And it's not like I live in some city where they spray for mosquitoes and treat any area that would have standing water to kill the larvae. No, I live way out in the boonies where there are too many breeding places for mosquitoes and too few people to bother reducing the population of either group. Plus, we're not that far from the Florida border and we get these HUGE effing mosquitoes. As you can tell from the photo with the ruler, they're nearly an inch from proboscis to leg tip. Their mouth parts are long enough to easily pass through even the thickest denim to suck you dry through your jeans.

They usually aren't such a big deal and for most of this summer when it rarely rained I almost never saw one. Recently, however, they've come out in dusky clouds of winged hypodermic needles ever since the remnants of a couple of hurricanes and tropical storms passed through leaving behind nearly ten inches of rain in only a couple of weeks. My melon patch is now covered by nearly two feet of water and our pond went from four feet below full to overflowing overnight. The far end of our yard is still marshy and unmowable. This has left the stupid insects with plenty of stagnant pools in which they can get their scrump on and leave their demon brood behind to quickly mature into the next round of bastards to suck my blood. I'm having to wear a jacket just to feed the chickens and they still bite me on the palms of my hands and sides of my face. I mowed yesterday before the Falcons game and I had to go dig out the bug spray out of the camping gear stored in the shed so I could spray down my clothes. In five minutes on the mower I was bitten over a dozen times through my shirt and jeans. This was at noon with it was 90 and sunny. What the hell!? Aren't mosquitoes supposed to prefer the evening hours and shade?

I would declare war on mosquitoes, but it'd be like me declaring a personal war on China. Not only would it be a pointless and losing campaign, I'd probably just piss them off and they'd organize and murder me in my sleep. Actually with their sheer numbers they'd probably just murder me in broad daylight. Instead, I'll continue bundling up when I have to go outside, avoid venturing outside my front door when I don't have to and wait patiently until I get to laugh maniacally that first frosty morn when I can dance on the tiny corpses of my enemies frozen during the night and know that I'll have a few months of welt free joy.