It Just Never Ends With These Guys

My roommate Justin joined the good fight a few weeks ago and bought packing tape to seal up all the cracks in our old window frames. It seemed to work - we haven't had a mosquito sighting since. That is, until last night. How it got in, I don't know, but right as we were drifting off J roused me with a solemn warning. "Babe, I just saw a mosquito."

I was already half asleep. I just pulled the covers up and my last thought was a hope that J didn't know what he was talking about.

I woke up itching and furious at 3 AM. It's October. What the hell was a mosquito doing in my fifth floor apartment in October, waking me up like I had nowhere to be in the morning?

I'd kicked off the sheet in my sleep and my back was bear to the wilds of my room. I was lying there, trying to muster the will to get the bug spray or at least to pull the blankets back up, when I felt the lightest brush across my skin. It could've been anything. It could've been my imagination. But in that zen-like state of half sleep I reached behind me and with one sure, slow swipe I crushed that little fucker. I knew even with my eyes closed that I'd got him. There was that particular combination of grit and liquid to roll into a satisfying ball and flick away. Only I didn't get that far. I just left the thing smashed against me and fell back asleep.