Saturday 18 February 2017

The Predator of Dusk and Dawn

Mosquitoes love to drink my blood.

Not so much the Machinist's blood.

He is most considerate of my dilemma when I become insomniacal (if that is a word)  after being brutally savaged by the Culicidae Family.  Especially those who have ties to the Mafia.

He urges me to wake him, should I be harassed in any way, shape or form by these pesky, midge-like flies.  In past times, I've watched him swat and swing, balancing  and bouncing on the bed as he does so -  with threat of lurching himself off.  I can't handle that kind of drama in the middle of the night.

And so - the other night, after switching on the light and thankful that it hadn't woken him, I proceeded to spray the room.

*Cough cough*

*Splutter splutter*

"Babe, what's going on?" he pleaded drowsily

"It's ok, I'm just trying to get these mozzies.  They've bitten me a hundred and twenty three times"

I was determined to convince the Machinist that I was doing my part in thwarting their plans of a blood-fest, even if I was exaggerating just a little.

And then he said it.

I had to make an urgent dash to the bathroom.

"You don't have to over do it....we're not in Auschwitz..."

No comments:


 Table talk amongst our children is and always has been, -  a rabbit warren . We start off in one hole and end up in another -  quick smart....