As if the intense night-time heat that does not permit one to wear much, if anything, while sleeping (night-time fantasies start here!), much less cover oneself with a sheet or blanket wasn't bad enough, the mosquito population has boomed making sleeping (and any other night-time activity) much less enjoyable.
In the going-on-five years I've lived in my second-story flat, mosquitos have never really posed a problem. I'd have an occasional visit from the Culicidae family, but these bastards have totally crashed at my home and do not want to leave. As I type, I'm amazed at the number of little flies zooming around my living room.
If I really wanted to get over overly dramatic, I could start getting all paranoid and crap about being infected by malaria parasites. Then my thoughts could race on about chronicling my first experience with malaria and publishing a memoir. I think I'd call it My Turn for Malaria.
Where's Miss Peggy driving along, spraying in her mosquito control pick-up truck when you need her?
Well, my lemon grass tea is finished. I'm off.