Mosquito Lady

The mosquitos have woven a delicate tapestry of pain on Sarah’s flesh. On arrival at any destination the local insects will gather and descend on her in cloud formation, and while she flails and spits uselessly from within her black burkah of itchiness, I am able to walk calmly away. She is better than deet. In the night, while I sleep like a baby log, the creatures find tiny holes in the window screens and announce their arrival in her ear with a high-pitched “deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet”. In the morning she looks like an angry map. At breakfast her bites are all she can talk about and her ranting always spoils my good mood.

It’s not my fault that I don’t get bitten by insects and that I mostly don’t even have to wear repellent, it’s just something in the natural order that makes her unnaturally tasty. I try to stay positive by saying “Hey, we’re only spending half as much on repellent,” and such, but the more I say things like, “Why am I not being bitten AT ALL!?” or “Maybe I should be wearing mosquito attractant!” the more agitated Sarah becomes, and the more her usually adoring look turns to a look of pure hostility. The other night I woke with a sudden shooting pain in my thigh and when I looked, I found teeth-marks. When I poked her Sarah pretended that she’d been sleeping, like, “Waaaah, what? Wh-who’s there?” and refused to admit to biting me. If you ask she’ll tell you that this never happened, but don’t believe her, she tells lies. At the end of the day there is no logical or scientific reason (none that I know of) to explain why Sarah is like candy to these insects while I am like candied faeces. If anyone knows a reason, please respond below. The answer, I think, is theological: God moves in mysterious ways, and he clearly hates Sarah.