Rid

The bottle suggests that Rid (insect repellent) may make you blind, cause you to become involuntarily bulimic, and burn the flesh of your infant’s chubby little hands – though not in that order. It doesn’t say so but I’m pretty sure it causes cancer, or should I say it ‘tastes’ carcinogenic. I resisted putting in on my skin at first – if it’s not fit to drink, why imbibe it any other way? But I have had to give in. The mosquitos have moved in for the wet season and the ravenous little bastards forgot to pack a lunch.

I had a strategy at first. It’s like my theory of tanning – build up a good base tan and then you don’t have to worry about burning. And my theory about personal hygiene – work up a serious stink daily and eventually everyone will believe you’re oozing pure evil, not simply lazy. I think it all stems back to the Princess Bride where that guy built up an immunity to the poison, iocane powder (or as it’s known, ‘what you do not smell…’). I’ve been trying to build up an immunity to everything ever since – alcohol, cigarettes, masturbation.

Thus I tried to build up an immunity to mosquito bites. I just let them bite me, ignored the itching hoping that, in time, being a bumpy, scabby, itchy mess would become the norm and I’d be free of having to worry about them. It’s not working – I’m not afraid of being the first to give up. And so I must turn to Rid. By my calculations I’ll be sterile by Christmas… that’s one less thing, I guess…

I’ve seen ads on telly for those new ‘mosquito’ ringtones that can only be heard by under 22 year olds. Interesting concept. I must have super-sonic hearing because I’m almost 25 and I can hear EVERY SINGLE FUCKING MOSQUITO flying around my bedroom when I’m trying to get to sleep.

I can hear exactly how far away they are, roughly what size they are, and how many times the fucker has bitten me already tonight. I find myself plotting the vectors of each flight path – anticipating which part of my practically naked body I’m going to have to slap at in the dark. When I woke up this morning I thought I was sunburnt… in a motif of strange red handshapes.

There are good things about the Territory. It only takes 40 minutes to defrost frozen chicken breasts on the kitchen counter. Dishes drip dry before you can find a place to squeeze them into the overcrowded rack. And your washing is dry before you even put it in the machine… yeah… hang on…

I’m getting old – the things that excite me these days are all domestic pleasantries. When I first arrived in this house I had a look around and found myself saying, ‘Wow, look at all this cupboard space!’ Saddening yes, but it’s alright. I’ve got plenty of time. I’ll spend the next few months building up an immunity to domesticity… by eating Nigella Lawson.