I killed a mosquito last night and it was really plump and squished all over my hands in a seriously gross, smeary way. I washed my hands A LOT after that.
So why did I kill it when I knew, based on its lovely plumpness, that by killing the mosquito I was going to create a nausea-inducing mess all over my hands? Well, I’ll tell you.
It was a matter of self-preservation. You see, a few nights ago, my husband and I were both literally kept up most of the night by one single, freakin’ obnoxious, lowly mosquito. Just one mosquito was all it took. I kid you not.
I’m not sure either of us were even bitten by it, but it kept doing that obnoxious anti-Darwinian (wouldn’t you think?) behavior where it buzzes in your ear. And when you’re half-asleep and you hear this, you tend to reflexively swat at it (ineffectually, mind you). But in swatting at the mosquito you wake yourself back up. And the mosquito, one single mosquito, managed to do this enough to keep us both awake most of the night!
We actually resorted to leaving the bathroom light on (hoping the mosquito would be drawn to the light) and spraying bug spray randomly on our dressers and other places (my memory is a little hazy as I was half asleep!).
So I killed the bug last night because I had to. And that’s that.