The mosquito-free period in Japan seems to be shrinking every year: I clearly remember having stray skeeters bumbling about the house as late as the last week of January, and I was assaulted by a particularly thirsty one again just last night. For many years, November through April were completely mosquito-free, but I guess it was just inevitable that my nemesis would eventually evolve to torture me in all but the coldest periods of the year.
And this is important to me, see, because last night, I slapped myself across the cheek in my sleep, hard. I was dreaming that a giant mosquito, like in that old-ass movie Caveman had landed on my face, so I panicked and, in my state of nocturnal distress, tried to smash it. I must have hit myself really hard, because my girlfriend woke up and said, “what’s wrong?” I glanced at the clock – 4 o’ clock? On a Monday morning? Fuck! – and grumbled, “GODDAMN….mosquito…FUCKING BIT ME.” She rolled her eyes and coyly asked if I had slapped myself again (which didn’t make me real happy at the time, but seems mildly amusing now), then promptly fell back to sleep since SHE had nothing to fear. You see, ever since I was little, anybody in proximity of me has nothing to fear from mosquitoes – my blood is like VSOP in a sea of lite beers or something.
Anyway, to make a long story short, this fucking insect tortured me until 6AM, biting me on the cheek three times and once on the ear before I decided I’d had enough and decided to kill it, no matter how long it took. Sleep deprivation coupled with a madly itching ear drove me to eat its broken corpse after I finally got it.
So, no fucking with me please today, sirs and madams, I have absorbed the power to suck my own weight in blood and cause mad itching, and I ain’t afraid to use it.