Feisty Female Mosquitos

Female mosquitos are involuntary and forced mobile blood banks. While males innocently suckle on flowers and nectar, females prey on unwilling donors, human or livestock, and penetrate them secretly, slipping silently far away before their prey realise.

One mere bite from a female mosquito, and one is set for almost an entire week of pain-staking, irritating, itchy, scratchy mounds of inflamed skin. All this from miniscule fly-like flying creatures with six oversized legs. They are nature’s vampires, and they feast on humans in the summer. It is not only horrid that these miniscule creatures take your blood without your attention or permission, but they may also, in some cases, leave treacherous diseases behind, such as ‘Malaria’, which attacks and in most cases defeats one’s red blood cells and many other body-parts such as the liver, ‘Yellow Fever’ which can come across like the gastro virus and in its worse cases allows your mouth to bleed, and ‘Filariasis’, a parasitic disease that can travel into your lymph nodes and cause you to get worms in your eyes or abdomen, or ‘Elephantiasis’, which literally leaves one looking like an elephant.

Travelling a maximum speed of 2.41 kilometers per hour, these blood-thirsty beings track you down every time you exhale. Humans breathe in oxygen, which contains carbon dioxide, and when they breathe out, they release the carbon dioxide. Soon after, a nearby female mosquito will smell this exhalation and stalk you in a zig-zag flying pattern until she sucks a substantial amount of your blood, 0.01 millilitres to be exact, and innocently flutters off. The solution? Do not breathe. Do not breathe, or enjoy sleepless nights spent scratching your skin to near depletion.  

To avoid the attack of these ‘Draculas-on-wings’, one must be sure to stop breathing – no exhalation of carbon dioxide means no mosquito bait. The more you sweat, smell bad or warmer you are, the more a mosquito can find you. Mosquitos can sense heat, just like the Predator. These female mosquitos need some loving, the hotter you are the closer they will come. They mind not your body odor, in fact they adore it. And even better, if you are wearing perfume. That way, your floral scent will make it easier for them to spot you.

If you have smelly feet, you are by far the biggest victim of a mosquito attack. A scientific endeavor proved that the scientist’s three-day old socks proved the most attractive to hungry female mosquitos. Make sure you keep the base of your motion-sticks clean, otherwise a mosquito will be sure to lick it up for you. And why is it, exactly, that a mosquito prefers your blood over mere nectar? Well, for her babies. Her eggs require protein to develop properly, just like how humans require slaughterhouses to acquire protein – at least mosquitos only suckle on a small part of us, one could imagine a human-sized mosquito slaughtering a human in the name of protein.

If you ponder why you have an itchy-effect after you are bitten by a feisty mosquito, it is because they spat on you. They salivate on your skin before they suck your blood in order to numb you – this is beginning to sound like a scary medical procedure. Once numb, the mosquito will drink. After it has gone, you will begin to itch because humans are allergic to the saliva left behind. Other than being plain disgusting, this is horribly frightening. A spitting, sucking devious flying creature that lays eggs in water. Any form of water, too. If you leave your cup of water outside on a hot summer day and pop inside to fetch something to place on the barbecue, upon returning and taking a drink, you could have drank the eggs of mosquitos. A free protein shake.

For total avoidance of mosquitos, it is advised that one lives in the desert and risks getting bitten by venomous snakes and scorpions, instead. Alternatively, to soothe one’s mind about how horrid this creature is, imagine a hybrid mosquito-llama, wherein it spits a gigantic numbing ball of saliva on your face and feasts. Then, thank your God for the non-existence of such a creature.   

Horrid Humidity

Humidity takes a juicy, bright red apple and turns it into a bitter, withered lemon. It takes a pool of cool water and turns it into hot sand.

Most days, I am affixed to my duties: wake up, dress up, drink coffee, immerse in conversations about the complexity of simple-minded people with my mother, have breakfast, read. I sometimes run a few errands for my parents. I do all these with ease and haste. No problems confront me, everything is as smooth as a yacht on an oily, calm seabed on a warm summer's day.

However, when my dear fiend, humidity, comes along, my soul dispels all hope of completing my daily tasks and I am figuratively dragged down to the floor, where I wither and waste away what could have been a perfectly positive and productive day.

My otherwise pale face takes on a shade of amber, and I appear as though I have been sleepless for three centuries. I end up looking like a hungry vampire, imprisoned in cobblestone-covered walls inside a dungeon, shied away from the moonlight or the ability to feast on fresh blood. I become lifeless, almost worthless, and I sweat away whatever fluids I had consumed prior to the attack of horrid humidity.

I become sluggish. Moving, in itself, becomes a task. It becomes one difficult to pursue, to undertake. To have me moving whilst under the attack of humidity should be deemed miraculous - if I had a choice of being burnt alive, no wait, I would not choose that. Humidity is not all that bad, but it is rather horrid. The only reasons behind any movement on a humid day would be to acquire water, and after that acquire more water. Some movement also goes to the acquisition of ice-cream. Though, gelato is rather preferable - orange flavored gelato.

In complaining about humidity though, I think back on those winter nights where I wished summer was back. I think back on driving with the windows up and three jackets on, and wishing for summer to return so that I could wind the windows down, and turn the music up. I was wrong with the thought of feeling the breeze in my hair in the duration of this though, because now, with this humidity, my hair is so limp and frizzy that a biscuit dipped in coffee can stand straighter. Now I wish that winter would return. And when it does, and brings with it the flu, I will wish again for humidity to visit - it's a constant cycle.

With humidity, though, I surprisingly feel comfort. I have not yet grown out of feeling as though if I slept uncovered, a monster would reach for my foot and pull me away from safety. Humidity acts like a blanket. I do not need to be covered by my quilt because I am blanketed by an invisible layer of utter heat, a sweaty, sticky force-field that the Boogeyman would dare not even attempt to penetrate. This not only annoys me, but it also comforts me - and my parents, for that matter, for they view my possible suitors, even though they would not dare enter my room seeing as I am fathered by the epitome of the Hulk, as Boogeymen. Chances are that if what humidity does to my otherwise silky, smooth, clean body, scares off monsters, it will also scare off those men. In most ways, therefore, humidity keeps me celibate.

Humidity eliminates monsters, men, cleanliness, sleep and dignity. It resuscitates insomnia, and creates sudden deadly mood swings. It turns my head of hair into the likeness of a  Sasquatch's pubic hair. However, I prefer it more than I prefer the misery that is winter, because until I find another lonesome soul, winter will be unenjoyable, in the same way that having a spouse in humid times makes one uneasy.