Resistance, Relief, Surrender

Each summer I become living flesh on which tens of thousands of mosquitoes feed. There must be something particularly moist and sweet about me that those darned bugs enjoy. After shrewdly comparing preventative means (Am told that those new insect repelling bracelets are a waste. Brazen mosquitoes actually land on the wristband to mock the wearer before diving in for the sting.) I now rely on a three tier approach to lowering bite counts: spray, fan, slap.

Following mosquito activity I pop antihistamines like they are candy, bath in calamine, and slather on an array of anti-itch medications.

Yet, no matter what pre-bug treatments I use and regardless of post-bite prescriptions, I am a nasty mess of itchy bites.
Calamine pink and smelling slightly of talcum, I'll scratch my way to October and try not to fantasize about DEET.