I'll Never Write a Novel

The Memoir of a Personal Essayist OR Confessions of a Theatre Widow

Saturday, August 29, 2009

I Hate Bugs

Do I live in the woods? No. No, I don't.

Then why, oh why, do I constantly have bug bites. The poor G has three huge ones today. We tell her she can't touch them-- she can blow on them. I have one on my hand that itches so badly I think I could slather it in Benadryl all day. There was a time I literally had 20+ bites and started to put the Benadryl on, reading the package. The package says something about not using it as an all-over lotion. Well, sometimes that's what it takes...

But, for me, the bigger deal isn't the bites. It's the bugs. Growing up in the beautiful Pacific Northwest I grew accustomed to our particular brand of creepy crawlies. Spiders the size of your fist... And, can someone explain why there are GIANT mosquito catchers/hawks at home, but I have yet to see even one in Queens. And let me tell you I could use some of those bad boys. Can you ship them? The bugs here are gross and icky and they are everywhere. They are strangers to me and I hate them. Are they what are biting me? I have no idea. Do they camp in my sink and crawl out? Just because they haven't yet doesn't mean they won't. There was some weird thing in our guest bedroom while we had guests here (sorry Beth and Megan!) and I will tell you, I have never killed a bug with a greater sense of urgency. It looked like something out of a horror movie.

While we are successfully navigating our New York adventures, I can tell you 100% that I would be a lot happier without the small, creepy visitors lurking. I really, really hate them.