Our neck of the woods is proud home to some serious Ninja-meets-Chuck-Norris type of mosquitoes. Now that fall is here, they're beginning to die down, but I'll write about them as a warning for spring.
These mosquitoes look like they're wearing black-and-white stripped pajamas. I could have gone for the zebra comparison, but I already threw Chuck Norris there in the first paragraph. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm prone to exaggerations. I take blood-drawing and needle-carrying creatures very seriously. I have every reason to, since they only seem to be targeting me. Yes, I am jealous that Trevor remains unscathed during summer, and I look like a walking Swiss cheese. Yes, it bothers me that conversations in our house go like this:
Mickey: I got bit agaaaaaaain! I was in the garden for 5 minutes, and came back with 7 mosquito bites.
Trevor: Aww, my little mosquito buffet.
Trevor (talking to the mosquitoes* and pointing at me): Look guys, the food truck is here!
Combine the mosquito bonanza with our love of puns and Trevor's penchant for talking politics, and you get this:
* My husband talks to bugs and I still love him. He loves me despite the fact that I'm in the habit of naming inanimate object around the house.