I must be a sweet person.
I know, I know, it’s difficult to accept, and I always thought that I’d taste something like Iodine, but no, I must be sweet. How else would you explain why it is that the mosquitoes love (to eat) me so. Just yesterday they tasted both of my feet, and when I tucked them angrily underneath my legs, they bit both of my knees. Aniraz wasn’t bitten at all. Apparently she wasn’t on the menu.
When I lay down at night they sing me to bed and then bite me in my sleep. My roomie, however, goes untasted. While sitting at the dining table the mosquitoes nip and whine at my feet from beneath the cover of the table cloth, and Aniraz laughs at me when I groan and wrap myself in a shawl despite the heat. She’s not as sweet as I am apparently.
She catches mosquitoes with her bare hands and then holds them out for me to see. I tell her than unless she catches them with chopsticks, Mr. Miaggi, I’m not impressed. I never crush mosquitoes with my bare hands. It’s uncouth, it’s not something that sweet people do.
We sweet people, we just sit and meekly take our licks, and then when the mosquitoes aren’t looking, we sweetly blast them out of the air with bug spray. And if we can’t find enough mosquitoes left in the house , we take the spray out to the back veranda where we know they are hiding in the cool, dark eaves, and we poison them by the hundreds and watch them float down through the air like sweet orange blossoms on a breezy spring day.
Sometimes we close mosquitoes in cabinets because the violence of a physical attack goes against our sweet nature. Sometimes we slap them across the room and watch them fall to the floor stunned where we hope they are having sweet dreams.
Revenge, it too is sweet. :p