humans versus mosquitoes
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
The Boy doesn't yet know about swatting mosquitoes. All Summer long, his legs have been covered in festering bites because he scratches them for weeks. But as of today, I think he's learned how to deal with the parasites.
I was slapping at a mosquito with a rolled up copy of this month's SPAN newsletter but having little luck. Canada has a lot of mosquitoes, big greyish things that bumble about a lot and let you kill them with relative ease. There are also the 'tiger' mosquitoes of course, which have a more painful sting, but those are rarer birds from what I recall. Here in Japan it's a different story. The local variety are black and quite small, making the most of their small size, dark colouring, and rather impressive aerobatic skills to evade destruction. So they can afford the time to pursue their absolutely relentless drive to burrow into your ankle. Bastards.
Today found me practicing my amateur-level Canadian swatting techniques against a small flight of mosquitoes that had descended upon us in our home during the middle of the afternoon (bastards). One had already evaded me by somehow abandoning flight and tucking into a fold of my shorts as I flailed about like some extinct Giant Sloth. I have to give that bug credit, it was like the scene in the Star Wars flick where Han Solo hides his ship on the surface of one of the Empire's massive Star Destroyer battleships.
Sensing that I'd detected it in my shorts, the (bastard) mosquito took flight once again and I aimed some hits at various non-entities. Growling in outraged incompetence, I complained to The Boy that I couldn't find the mosquito.
He exclaimed, "dah!" and pointed. This time the mosquito had somehow not only managed to elude me but it had grabbed hold of my passing (ponderous) arm and was digging into the inside of my elbow. The bastard. I swatted at it with my off-hand and caught it springing away from me. I finished it off as it tried to right itself on the floor, and thanked the boy.
I couldn't have done it without him. 18.5 months, and already he's learned how to spot enemy attackers.