Let me introduce you: Winnipeg, Mosquito. Mosquito, Winnipeg. Now that you've met I'm sure you'll have a beautiful friendship over the years to come, starting...NOW.
Apparently it has been a record high for mosquitos this week. A record high. Folks, that means EVER. In Winnipeg's entire history. Do you hear what I'm saying? Can you hear the pain in my voice from where you're sitting in your comfortable, non-mosquito infested city? And not worried about the rampant spread of disease in your little insect-free bubble of a world? I didn't think so. Don't believe me? Think I'm exaggerating? You can check the count here.
So citrusboy leaves the house yesterday morning, with long pants and a long sleeved shirt as his work attire demands. And steps outside, gingerly so as not to disturb the sleeping mosquito-demons. And promptly gets knocked to the ground by, let's error on the side of caution in our estimate shall we, a million mosquitos who are hungry for some breakfast. And maybe a little snack afterwards. He swears he heard one calling to his buddy: Hey Joe, get your abdomen over here! I've just found brunch and linner!
This actually happens here:
You're slap-happying away at all the mosquitos on your body, when all of a sudden, one will explode on you. And you're stuck with someone else's blood on your hands. Literally. Someone else's blood. On your hands. Putrid.
And it's stinking hot too. And humid. And just plain gross. Can you imagine the lovely combinations of clothing I can come up with? Either I wear jeans, which those damn Winnipeg mosquitos still seem to be able to get through (I shudder in fear) and boil myself alive, or I wear shorts and get bitten so as to resemble a small pox victim. Pretty picture, ain't it?
But in our collective pain, I see that the city can still laugh at itself. Or at least the Roman Catholic Church can. Passing by on the bus, I saw this on the church's signboard:
Winnipeg is the only city I know of where the entomologist is a celebrity. And his name is Taz. Seriously. Taz. That's a good sign, right?
Apparently it has been a record high for mosquitos this week. A record high. Folks, that means EVER. In Winnipeg's entire history. Do you hear what I'm saying? Can you hear the pain in my voice from where you're sitting in your comfortable, non-mosquito infested city? And not worried about the rampant spread of disease in your little insect-free bubble of a world? I didn't think so. Don't believe me? Think I'm exaggerating? You can check the count here.
So citrusboy leaves the house yesterday morning, with long pants and a long sleeved shirt as his work attire demands. And steps outside, gingerly so as not to disturb the sleeping mosquito-demons. And promptly gets knocked to the ground by, let's error on the side of caution in our estimate shall we, a million mosquitos who are hungry for some breakfast. And maybe a little snack afterwards. He swears he heard one calling to his buddy: Hey Joe, get your abdomen over here! I've just found brunch and linner!
This actually happens here:
You're slap-happying away at all the mosquitos on your body, when all of a sudden, one will explode on you. And you're stuck with someone else's blood on your hands. Literally. Someone else's blood. On your hands. Putrid.And it's stinking hot too. And humid. And just plain gross. Can you imagine the lovely combinations of clothing I can come up with? Either I wear jeans, which those damn Winnipeg mosquitos still seem to be able to get through (I shudder in fear) and boil myself alive, or I wear shorts and get bitten so as to resemble a small pox victim. Pretty picture, ain't it?
But in our collective pain, I see that the city can still laugh at itself. Or at least the Roman Catholic Church can. Passing by on the bus, I saw this on the church's signboard:
God didn't create anything without a purpose.
But mosquitos come close.
But mosquitos come close.
Winnipeg is the only city I know of where the entomologist is a celebrity. And his name is Taz. Seriously. Taz. That's a good sign, right?
4 comments:
Heh heh heh....never been to Santo Domingo, eh? I won't even start about the mosquito situation there.
I tried to warn you! Winnipeg is the mosquito capital of Canada! I guess walking around smelling of DEET is out of the question?
Santo Domingo, no. Puerto Plata, yes - but it could be different there.
And we do smell like DEET. Well, I bought a spray that supposedly smells like perfume, but it's still obnoxious. We're probably going to die of cancer for bathing in that stuff if the mosquitos don't get us first.
It's only if you use too much DEET that you die of cancer...
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