Thursday, August 16, 2012

A summer or two ago, in an attempt to hunt down a particularly annoying mosquito, I devised a plan that called for a bit of sacrifice. The insect in question had infiltrated my place and had been feasting for a few days, and I wanted the kind of relief that soothing aloe could never offer. I donned long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, socks, a cap, a pair of gloves, even a scarf. Then, I sat and waited for the telltale, high-pitched buzzing.

The little fella didn’t disappoint. I proceeded to roll up my left sleeve and expose a small piece of arm. Sure enough, it landed there within moments, like a moth to the flame. Is that a racist thing to say about insects? In any case, BAM! The punchline concluded with mosquito viscera smeared on my arm. At the time, I felt victorious. Clever, even. Now, I’m not so sure if the juice was worth the squeeze.

That’s because, faced with another mosquito tonight, I rolled out the vacuum cleaner–and caught the bastard mid-air with the wand. Forget “clever.” This felt bad-ass. Pragmatically speaking, I accomplished the same outcome with significantly less effort. Plus, I didn’t have to wear a fuckin’ scarf in August. There’s a party this weekend, and I’m going to take the same approach and wing it. There was a time when I would’ve planned and agonized, but no more. I’m just going to go, as is the custom of normal people.