Okay. So I go for a walk the other night wearing shorts and a t-shirt. It's summer in Wyoming and the weather is fabulous. I get to the end of the our block which leads to a semi-rural road in a quiet neighborhood. As always, when I'm walking I daydream. On that day I was was thinking about baking cupcakes, mentally going over my lines for an upcoming play, and wondering if I have the stamina to train a puppy.
All of a sudden I find myself in the middle of a mosquito ambush. I panic. I have two choices. Go home and spray myself with toxic pesticide OR forget the walk all together and watch Hell's Kitchen. I choose the latter.
The next day I'm ready for them. I refuse to wear long pants, despite hubby's insistence. It's summer! I'm not wearing long pants, okay! I have no choice but to use the bug spray. I'm careful to spray my legs and arms and keep it away from my face and neck. I go for my walk, rejoicing that I have outsmarted the mosquito hordes.
I enjoy my walk, singing "One" from "A Chorus Line" and basking in the beauty of neighborhood irises, the coo of doves and silent bunnies lurking beneath sidewalk shrubs. I'm almost home when I feel something on my leg. I look down and the little "buggers" have been sucking the blood just above my sock line. The bug spray must have worn off. YIKES! I smash the mosquito squadron, smearing my leg with blood. I'm in full retreat, running the rest of the way home.
The mosquitoes may have won the battle, but they haven't won the war. I have not yet begun to fight!
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