In the history of my life, 2015 might be the Year I Kept It Together…(Sort Of) In The Face Of A Lot Of Shit. And, yet, I realize that it can always be worse. On top of difficult loss, I’ve had a growing list of small, will-be-hilarious-someday-not-now annoyances to contend with: my web site got hacked, I had several brief job stints at work places that would make Jeff Bezus proud (more on that in my next post), and after months of chewing on the left side of my mouth discovered through the great communicator of Pain that my right molar has cracked. My dentist gave me a temporary crown, put me on the Advil drip, and we’re now waiting to see if I need a root canal. I mean it’s not a…no, wait, it IS a root canal.
All that set the stage for the, hopefully, final episode in the Weird Random %$#* category of my summer. In May or June these adorable pigeon/doves (still not sure if they are the same thing) made a home on my porch. The mama laid eggs which hatched into baby birds, I took pictures and yabbered on about the wonder of nature and the miracle of life, like a super-bored housewife. A few weeks later, I got ready for bed and prepared to fog out on the final episode of “Orange Is The New Black” when I felt this itch on my stomach. I scratched. A second later I felt itchy on my shoulder, knee, finger, leg…I tore off my clothes (in an non-sexy way) and found, a teeny, tiny, looking spider insect on my stomach…and then my arm. Over the course of the next few hours, I mopped the floors, threw out all my bedding, washed my couch cover, and covered myself in alcohol. The next day I called my building manager and she hired a Pest Control Professional.
The good news: these were not Bed Bugs, but Bird Mites. Bad News: equally gross. They come from bird feces, which can be found anywhere a bird has nested. Maybe I don’t find nature so wonderful, after all.
More disturbingly, Bird Mites find a single host to “feed off” and then send pheromones out to the family, basically saying, “Hey, we got happy hour between 11-7 am on this lady.” My boyfriend didn’t get a single bite; I was covered. A lesser woman would have gone crazy. I may be a lesser woman.
Thanks to the Pesticide Guy, anything with more than two legs has not set foot in here in weeks and I have concluded that between the bear attack in Yosemite and the mite attacks in my bed, humans should not commune with nature anywhere but the Internet.
Note: This post was a public service announcement.