I was writing to a friend, whining about the horror of this year’s mosquito crop, when I looked up at the wall above my desk and saw three of them just sitting there looking at me, quietly contemplating how much of a tasty meal I was going to make.
They are all dead now. And my dogs are hiding on their bed in fear of the crazed lady who was running around with a magazine in her hand, climbing up and down on desks, rocking chairs and other unsafe surfaces while screaming, “Die, you bastards! Die!”.
Is it almost time for winter yet?