“Mommy, the bugs are coming.”
“Run, Tommy, RUN.”
I am not sure how other people feel about disgusting, good for nothing, scum of the earth, mosquitoes—in case I have not made my point let me be loud and clear—I HATE THEM. Hate them, hate them. Unfortunately, they LOVE me; I am the tastiest treat, the crème brûlée that you must order and savor.
Many a friend has joked that they don’t need bug spray they just have to invite me along. I have joked that the memo must be out when I travel somewhere new. I once had to go to a pharmacy in Greece; I tried to use my translation book, it didn’t work, so I put my leg up on the counter. The clerk just looked at me with sympathy and handed me some minty cream.
Even if I am super careful and wear bug spray, bundle up like its winter, they still find me and a bite appears on that one spot that I missed.
I have been especially careful now that Tommy is around to make sure that we get inside before the bugs come out. I also spray him with bug spray when we are outside. I know some parents are anti-sprays; well I’m not going to be one of those parents with West Nile, EEE, Lime disease, and who knows what else around. If I, or someone in my family, go down from a bug bite, that is it; I will have to wage war against the whole species.
The bugs are coming, has become the code word around here for, it’s time to go inside. So now when Tommy wants to go inside, no matter what time of day it is, he mutters the words that I fear the most ... the bugs are coming and we RUN inside.