Filthy bloodsuckers, mosquitoes are the bane of my existence. What purpose do they serve other than to be food for other creatures? I tell you what, there must be a lot of starving birds, spiders, and other phyla, because there are mosquitoes aplenty wherever I go. I am a veritable buffet, a succulent bonanza of crimson cocktails. Where the little monsters gave me a peaceful, undisturbed May, June, and most of July, they made up for their early shyness with a vicious assault over the last two weeks on any bared skin.

I have always felt targeted by the buzzing bastards. Once the first winged terror gets a taste, they apparently let their buddies know where to get the good stuff, because I can no longer stand being outside without hosing myself with repellant. Amidst a group, I can be swatting around like an old battlecruiser fending off dive bombers and fighters while everyone else remains unperturbed. Like a vampire, they lust for the pulsating beckons of the neck. If going after the head region earns a swat, the horde then targets the joints. Elbows, knees, and ankles serve as lush fields on which to graze and fatten. Yes, it is risky going for such visible locations, yet they can inject their itch serum and get a hit from the capillaries in the blink of an eye while your future unknowingly holds multiple weeks of annoyance.

Let’s talk about that annoyance. A dense cluster of bites can be strong enough to wake a person from a deep sleep. Your brain will try to muster all the willpower it can to avoid touching the bite, knowing that scratching will keep the itch strong and, quite possibly, make it worse. The throbbing and burning yearns for attention with the promise of relief. That relief, however, is a mirage, the oasis sitting on the horizon that never gets any closer. And then, you give in. Scratching a barking mosquito bite is one of those things that should not feel as good as it does. Depending on the location, literally scratching that itch can be, well, orgasmic. Ankle bites, specifically, hit enough of the right spot that you can sit and scratch and scratch and almost fall into a trance as the momentary relief rolls through your brain. I hate it, but at the same time I don’t.

Summer is a fantastic season where the sunny days bring warmth and opportunity. Even storms show off their theatrics and leave nature looking and smelling refreshed. The worst part about summer, however, is mosquitoes. They are disease-carrying, itch-inducing demon spawn that burst forth from the very water that gives the world life. After scratching multiple body parts non-stop for the last several weeks, I am once again fed up with them for the season. I will laugh and toast their downfall when Fall’s first frost rends them asunder.