Earlier this evening I was sitting outside on the porch, finishing up some work on the laptop. I’d used spray to protect against mosquitoes, but apparently I had inadvertently grabbed the can of “On.” These mosquitoes found it DEETlicious.
Mosquitoes have revered and feasted on my blood since I was young. I was lanky and bone skinny as a kid, with radiant pale skin that drew bloodthirsty swarms like a beacon at twilight. There’s a family photo and me and my brothers by the pool when I was about 11. I was all ribs and elbows, dough white with 30 mosquito bites that I’d frenziedly scratched into enormous raised welts all over my jangly, hunger-telethon-boy body. I’m still astounded the neighbors never called DFACS.
For my current mosquito problems, a friend suggested citronella candles. I’m convinced southern mosquitoes sing songs and cook s’mores in the flames of these candles. Mosquitoes mock citronella, drinking shots of the wax as it melts.
Other recent invading warriors include a giant daddy long legs (now known as LL Diddy G) that parked in my bathroom sink the other day. I grabbed as much as I could carry or stuff in my pants and moved out immediately.
Yet upon my return to safe quarter, what was to greet me but this beast:
This creature is known as the house centipede, because it is a terrifying “centipede” that comes into your “house.” I have observed top speeds of 74 MPH, unaided by wind or elevation.
So live at your own peril in the southern summertime, and be on your guard. Unless you choose to delight the insect kingdom with the kingdom of God, as suggested in this bizarre testimony for competitive personal Jesus-infusion that crops up in my Facebook feed occasionally:
I respect all beliefs, but didn’t Tabasco do this commercial better several years back?