Every night, as I sleep, I am feasted upon. It's as if my apartment was a restaurant, my bed the plate and me the main course. All you can eat until dawn! (There's a very real possibility that I am feasted upon 2nd, Matt first, which would make me the dessert which, if we're being totally honest, is a little more accurate.)
I mean, I really can't blame the bed bugs for feasting on me. I am pretty delicious. Not that I'd know! But hey, who hasn't accidentally swallowed some of their own blood? From picking on a scab. On their knee. Don't judge me!!
Like I was saying - I really can't blame the bed bugs for feasting on me. And in some ways I'm very appreciative of the way they operate. For one thing, they wait until I'm fast asleep to feast which is very considerate! That way I don't have to know what's going on or feel the sting of the tiny creatures sucking the very life from my body. It's really very considerate. And I also have to give them props for not attacking my money maker! No, not my butt, pervs... my face. (Although sometimes my butt says stuff of higher quality than my face. I digress.) Not once have I had a bite on the kisser. So, really, I have to thank them for that as well.
I am, however, a little tired of the bites. I'm pretty allergic to them. And, though I appreciate the avoidance of my face, the bites on my feet - toes specifically - are pretty uncomfortable. As I type I have two on my toes, one on the top of my foot and one on the arch and another on my calf. Not very fun when wearing shoes, dear bedbugs!!
Now listen: I truly don't mind being a feast for any of god's creatures. If they didn't multiply so damn quickly and cause itchy, red welts I can't think of a reason I'd mind! As I said - I am pretty tasty. But, dammit, I am allergic and they do multiply and it's about time these fuckers were eradicated! And so we have a 2nd round of extermination coming in on Thursday to soak our pad with chemicals which give me a sore throat and a cough. That's gotta be healthy, right?
Now here's a very real fear that I must share with you. Bedbug ghosts. Do they exist? Will they haunt me for wiping out their family, who was probably brought into our home by us or someone we know and love? Will they carry teeny-tiny bedbug chains to haunt my attic (my hair)? Or will they try to learn to pick up a penny and then show up at my pottery wheel to make a vase with me? Are they going to hire a sassy black woman who speaks to the dead to come to my house and tell me, "ditto"? Does everyone get the movie I'm trying really hard to reference?!? No matter how cool a story it would make (which I'd tell if The Moth ever had a "Bedbug Haunting" themed night) I do not want.
But we're getting off the subject now. The point of this diatribe is that A) I am delicious, B) I need to stop picking my scabs and C) I am praying to whatever is out there that these bedbugs are wiped out. I feel bad, but hey. I canna take no more!
AH! AH HA! As I type this Matt found a bedbug on our curtain! Getting bolder are we, fuckers? Coming out in the daylight!? I SEE HOW IT IS.
Oh it is SO ON, you little bastards! This is war! I don't know what that means because there's not much more I can do aside from sleeping in a full berka but, hey, if that's what it takes to deprive you of your tasty Glennis platter then SO BE IT! Access: denied!
(Seriously, bedbugs suck so hard. Don't come over to my house. Or hug me. I will give you bedbugs. I'm disgusted with myself.)
Don't let the bedbugs bite! HAR HAR HAR.