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By Andrea Rouda
YESTERDAY I made the mistake of going outside to do some yard work, something I rarely do in summer, and when I do I make sure to apply bug spray and wear gloves and a hat and long sleeves and long pants tucked into boots. Yes, wearing that all makes me very hot, but the alternative is worse.
So anyway, seeing as how the calendar said SEPTEMBER I ventured outside not in my usual full anti-bug regalia and spent about half an hour cleaning up the garden, time enough for me to become an All-You-Can-Eat bar for the mosquitos, Satan’s flying henchmen, who, somehow knowing their end is near, stuffed themselves silly.
As a consequence, last night sleeping was out of the question because all the bites made me puff up like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Instead I spent the night itching and scratching and applying creams and lotions and cool compresses, none of which worked, all the while cursing my stupidity. How could I have been fooled that way by a simple word on a calendar?
Soon enough it will be OCTOBER, which is the real deal, with cool days and cold nights and bright orange leaves crunching underfoot. And no bugs. Then I’ll go outside again.
—Andrea Rouda blogs at The Daily Droid.
