So, anyway…my lab’s not far from the mosquito behavior guys’ lab. Those little bloodsucking bastards (the mosquitoes, not the lab guys) are pretty tiny (well, actually, one of the lab guys is pretty tiny. Oh, wait–he graduated), and at least a few slip out of their little containers now and then (both the lab guys living in efficiencies and the mosquitoes.)
So, they’re flying around in my lab (the mosquitoes, not the lab guys–though that would be a good trick.) And, apparently, they’re hungry. They’ve decided that Scribble blood is nice and sweet. Or wonderfully savory. Or spicy. I wonder if they like South Indian food. I eat a lot of that, and I’m sure all the spices have got to be giving my blood that special tang.
In any case, it’s midwinter here. So I get to go outside and freeze in not very long. But at the same time, I’m getting all these mosquito bites.
It sucks.
Or, rather, they suck.
The mosquitoes, I mean. I don’t know about the lab guys.
I’ve been slapping at them (the mosquitoes–the lab guys are all at home) and holding up their dead bodies as a deterrent to other Culicidae aiming for a little 4:30 am snack. Unfortunately, the little vampiric pricks just keep on pricking.
Bastards. (The mosquitoes. And the lab guys responsible for all my bites. They can bite me. The lab guys, I mean–not the mosquitoes. Although the mosquitoes seem to be doing a very good job of it right now.)
I have no sympathy for you. It’s summer here. By day the flies are being a pain in the arse. By night the “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” of mosquitoes is driving me mad.
Mosquitoes LOVE me, I’m still convinced it’s a blood type thing. The FUCKERS won’t leave me alone.
Ok I lie. You have my sympathy. Mosquitoes must DIE!
I can understand your problem, Scribble. Your blood is in fact quite tangy with a coy sweetness. Who can blame them for collection that sweet ambrosia you call blood. I bet they’re trained mosquitos genetically altered to collect your blood for their nefarious experiments. Or their nefarious cocktails.
Just chiming in to say that that was a very funny OP. I got faith in you, Scribble, you’ll deal with the infestation. By that I mean the lab guys, not the mosquitoes.
Here it is, only a little over 12 hours after I posted the OP here, and I’m back in the lab. I’ve been awake all night, and then all of today. I submitted a grant proposal that I flubbed completely. So no summer in Ecuador for Scribble. Nope. She’s gonna have to sit at home, being broke, smooshing flies.
Oh, right. The mosquitoes. That was the subject of this post, originally. Right.
The dipteran death toll is mounting, and yet the winged winged beasties keep comin’ in. How many of those little suckers do I have to smoosh before they get the idea that hanging around me isn’t so smart, maybe?
And thanks for the flirting, you guys. It’s been a very long, hard week, and I needed it. (The flirting, not the week. With or without mosquitoes. Or mosquito behavior lab guys. Or the Mariana Trench. For 20 minutes.)
At this point, my brain is not merely dead. It’s truly, most sincerely dead. Like the little mosquito I just crushed a second ago. Stupid scaley-winged, long tarsied, modified mouthpart havin’, whorl antennaed, Johnston’s organ-usin’, bitey-bite givin’…oh, fergit it. It’s time to go home.
