I’m officially a self-proclaimed Mosquito Whisperer. Now, most self-proclaimed something or another whisperer actually want to be that whisperer. I, however, would like to denounce my title….nay, my crown, to whoever wants it.
Everyday, I count my mosquito bites. A sad ritual indeed because it really serves no purpose besides getting me more frustrated. I get frustrated because I seem to be alone in this en-devour. No one in my host family or at work has any bites to complain about. If they do, there are like a couple here and there (not worthy enough to join my self pity party). At any given moment, I have about 15 bites or more on my body. My right leg at the moment has 8. I also feel like I have moved beyond the summer look of mosquito bites into some sort of unidentified skin condition in which I develop red spots all over my skin (my face, thankfully, is not disfigured).
With each bite, I day-dream on how I received said bite. Did I see this blood sucking predator? No. Could I avoid this wing-creature monster? No. I’ve tried and failed. Seriously, can someone answer me how and why I get these bites?! Google did a somewhat reasonable job. It can provide the scientific step-by-step of the process of how a mosquito does its bidding. The “why” part of the question is left up to me.
Thus, here is my running theory how I became nominated by the mosquitoes as their whisperer. Humor me as my theories are somewhere between the realm of reality and pure myth. Okay, pure myth, but hear me out.
The mosquitoes hold a staff meeting every night at some God-forsaken hour. The leader of the pact goes, “now, remember followers, we must provide a fresh blood source for our sacrifice.” A good-for-nothing mosquito beckons, “What about Rawan? She is not Georgian. She has a new sort of blood we have not had before.” Another cries, “Yes, she will do. She does not break our treaty of not bothering anyone at [my home and work address are said here].” Another annoying mosquito agrees, “How about we make our lives easier and just go after her each and every day?” And then they all cry the evil laugh we hear in Disney movies.
And of course, they have invisibility powers. They borrow Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak wherever they go. I say this because I never see these suckers! I have no idea I have been bitten until I start itching and realize that it is in fact a bite. Naturally, I’m paranoid of scratching at this point because I could just make that bite I’m unaware of worse.
Call my crazy, I know this theory of mine cannot possibly be true. But really, it is the only one that gives me comfort. And please hold your old-wife tales to yourself. I have heard them all and here is my response: I do not eat bananas. I do eat garlic. I do not have a lot of sugar. Rubbing alcohol does nothing for the itching (but does reduce the redness). Applying heat or cold is nothing but a placebo. I have tried everything suggested on the Internet that I could possibly do here in Georgia.
But there is really one thing I have not tried: embracing my new identity as the Mosquito Whisperer.
Now excuse me as I go cry in the corner in fetal position embracing my new reality. But hey, at least Georgia does not have the Zika virus or Malaria, so thank God for that!