I take it all back. I am not divorcing Manhattan – at least the Big Apple is not sporting mosquitoes the size of newborn babies. Flies and rats maybe, but blood-sucking ‘skeeters, no.
In theory, one would think that your brother inviting you to sit in his lush green grass and tree lined yard would be a refreshing change from the concrete jungle I live in. And it was nice. Prosecco on the porch. Desi Niece overwatering the plants. Fresh air. Until the sun set and an army of buzzing mosquitoes descended onto the yard and ate me alive.
That is why, this morning I am a driving hazard, everyone on Highway 88 be careful! I am driving 55 miles an hour, one hand on the wheel the other hand scratching my welted legs non-stop. I have drawn blood – more blood. I should be quite the sight when I walk into Macy’s in 10 minutes.
“We should have a coffee first,” Mom says. This is our routine, whether we buy or not – oh who am I kidding – I buy, always on sale and with a coupon – but I buy! So first, I find a great parking spot, and then we walk through Macy’s to the coffee shop, have a coffee and then wander around the mall. “Fine, coffee is fine," I half-snap, half-whine. “Something wrong?” Mom asks. “No, I just can’t stop scratching my legs. Damn mosquitoes. Stupid state bird of Minnesota,” I mutter. Mom chuckles.
“Oh you find my pain funny?” I snap as we come to a red light. She gives me a dirty look and says, “No. Why would I want you to suffer?” she asks in that Mom voice that I know better to question. When the light turns green the car in front of us does not move. So I honk, lightly, but honk. They look up, startled. And proceed through the intersection.
“What are you doing?” Mom asks. “What? Driving?” I ask. She sighs and says nothing. We come to the next light. Same thing. The light turns green and they don’t move – so I honk a little longer and drop the f-bomb. Always attractive – I know. This time Mom makes sure to give me a dirty look. “What?” I demand. She shakes her head. At the third traffic light, between the non-stop scratching, Mom’s dirty looks and this ding dong who won’t proceed through the intersection, I lay down the horn and say, “why don’t these effing people move their effing cars when the effing light turns effing green?” Now – I did not say “effing” I did repeatedly drop the f-bomb, yes with my mother in the car. She did not flinch.
This time Mom sighs WAY deeply and says, “We don’t do that here.” Calmly, at the next red light I glance over and say, “What don’t you do? Drive when the light turns green?” “Honk. That is very aggressive. We are nice here.”
Well then. Between the mosquitoes and nice people I cannot take it anymore. Take me back to my island!