my horror-movie morning

This morning, as I sat upon the pot with my bathroom door open to the rest of my apartment (the things we do when we live alone), my gaze lit upon one of the largest mosquitoes I had ever seen, just sitting there insouciantly on the vertical surface of my bathroom door's jamb. It took me a second to register why the creature was so huge: it had obviously been sucking my blood, all night long, to its evil heart's content.

The mosquito, bloated and vulgar, seemed sated and in no mood to move, so I slowly leaned over—still sitting on the toilet—and gingerly grasped a bottle of Windex that I keep in the bathroom for just such occasions. Holding the spray bottle away from the insect so as not to startle it, I performed one or two experimental spritzes to make sure there would be no misfires. I then trained the spray nozzle on the beast and fired once.

The bastard fell instantly, stunned. It struggled feebly in the pool of Windex fluid that had dribbled down the wall and formed around it. I knew I had to confirm that this pest really had been siphoning off gallons of my precious life-force, so I slowly gathered up some toilet tissue, reached down, and attempted—gently—to pick the mosquito up.

The malefic bug burst like one of Satan's zits between my fingers, spectacularly confirming that the infernal monster had indeed been greedily downing my essence. "Fuck you and die!" I yelled belatedly, lamely. I wondered what my neighbor thought, but then I ceased to care. My adversary was dead, and I had learned that, while you can never get your blood back from the creature that took it, you can nevertheless evoke a measure of divine justice.

Sic semper culicibus.