I cannot wait for this infernal sumer to be over (although if it could hang around/return for my upcoming weekend away, that would also be nice).
Not only have we still had no significant rain, meaning that we are even deeper (no pun intended) in the throes of our water crisis, but this week’s calm, warm days and calm, warm nights have made Cape Town – specifically the bit of Cape Town that is our bedroom – a veritable paradise for mosquitoes. The whiney little shits.
I’ve mentioned before on here the lengths I go to in order to improved Mrs 6000’s life in this regard, but the last couple of nights have been off the scale as far as my sacrifices go. I am covered – covered – in bites. I itch.
Feel free to give me all your anti-mosquito tips and tricks, but please bear in mind that I have tried them all, and I am still trying them all. Tabard, Peaceful Sleep, Pyrethrums, Citronella, Prayer, A Big Fan, The AR15 Assault Rifle: all of them.
This morning, despite having employed each and every strategy I had at my disposal, and having checked and declared the room fully mosquito-free before retiring last night, I killed 9 of the engorged little bastards. All fed on me. Not a mark on my wonderful wife.
And why should tonight be any different? Meaning that by this time tomorrow I will basically just be one big histamine molecule.
Well, there’s something to look forward to. Ugh.