Last night, a mosquito took advantage of me in my sleep.
He (because I unconsciously associate despised insects to the male gender) no doubt watched me sleep before deciding to strike—and just shortly before 3am, strike he did. Three times on my back and once on my cheek in fact. Bastard? I think so. Your sucker needle in my cheek was uncalled for.
In other fluttery creature news, my brother has found a new hobby: scaring living daylights out of me. It all started one sunny day not too long ago when we were out in the yard. I was taking pictures for layout ideas (incidentally, the header image of this layout was taken in this shoot) and he was… doing something else.
I should halt the progression of this tale to inform you that my
fear strong dislike of moths is not limited to the ugly brown variety. As far as I’m concerned, anything even slightly resembling the moth is a moth. This, naturally, includes butterflies. They might be prettier than their night flying relatives, but they’re just as scary. And dangerous. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
So I’m minding my own business, looking through the lens of my camera and happily clicking away when I spot a white butterfly coming straight for me. Purely by natural instinct, I scream and duck. My brother laughs at my behavior. “You’re afraid of BUTTERFLIES?” He asked in tone only a younger brother can use when he has seen his older, fully grown sister duck and scream from something an mere two inches big.
I shoot him a nasty glare, but shake it off and go back to photographing things. Not too long after, I feel a fluttery sensation on my bare shoulder.
A fluttery sensation.
There is only one thing I associate to fluttery, and it starts with a big, ugly, brown ‘m’. This is not good.
Naturally, I let out a blood curling scream, jump to the side and turn around accusingly. I was ready to beat that butterfly into oblivion for using me as a landing pad, so imagine my surprise (and rapidly increasing anger) when the “butterfly” in question is actually a bamboo leaf being held by my treacherous brother, his face displaying a huge grin that suggested he found the whole situation amusing.
I was sorely tempted to sock him one.
You see, I have a very sensitive back. I’ve never had a back massage that didn’t cause me pure anguish. When people touch my back unnecessarily—particularly my spine—I get all skirmish and highly sensitized. The idea of something as disgusting and foul as a moth landing on my bare back is utterly revolting.
Of course, now that my brother has discovered this, he has been pseudo-moth attacking me at every given opportunity, and dammit to all, I can’t help but scream every single time. After having my room taken over by moths last summer and being attacked by several others a year later I am prepared for anything. The prospect that a seemingly innocent light fluttery sensation on my bare shoulder could, in fact, be a five inch month waiting to suck out my soul is not all that far fetched to me.
In other news, I’m buying an IKEA mosquito net canopy to go over my bed as soon as the workers at the closest IKEA decide to end their strike and go back to work. I’m done with being molested in my sleep or getting up at ungodly hours of the night to kick moths out of my room in fear of accidentally swallowing them or something.
So moths? Bring it, bitches.
(Just wait until I get the mosquito net first)