My wife and I were sitting in our living room, watching the Netflix strip Mobius. we had He survived the eight months of winter and enjoyed the 23 hours of spring. The weather alert on our computer warned that the night would be clear and with a full moon.
“Hello, Jane. Let’s take a romantic walk. “Tonight is supposed to be lovely.”
“Let me grab my coat.”
“Jane, it’s June.”
“Okay. I’ll grab a scarf too.”
We went out and, to our surprise, it was completely cloudy. I guess the weather forecast was wrong. But then I heard the ominous, chilling hum.
“Jane, run!” But I was too late. The cloud of mosquitoes had already attached itself to her and was airlifting her back to Half Moon Lake.
As anyone who lives here knows, we have an overabundance of blood-sucking vermin in Wisconsin. In fact, Eau Claire would be an ideal place for a medieval barber to practice medicine. I imagine it would be something like this:
Barber: What seems to be the problem?
Peasant: He is my son. He has a touch of the Black Death.
Barber: Well, that’s going around. What your child needs is a good blood draw.
Peasant: That makes sense. Should I bring it to your office?
Barber: Not necessary. Simply ask him to take a hike in Lowes Creek Park near sunset. Here is your invoice. You owe me two chickens and a dead cat.
Peasant: Dead cat? Why do you need a dead cat?
Barber: I can’t tell you. I am not allowed to reveal the secrets of the pharmaceutical industry.
I wonder why I still live in Eau Claire. Recently, my wife and I flew to California to visit our friends Lew and Mary Ann. They didn’t have mosquitoes. They had clouds of monarch butterflies. Butterflies! I was wandering under their lemon trees while they and my wife rested on the terrace, unbothered by the biting insects. When I joined them on their terrace, I began to undress.
Lew: What are you doing?
Me: I walked through some tall grass, so you know the routine.
Lew: No. No, I don’t.
Jane: I have to look for targets.
Lew: Targets on your back?
Jane: Yes.
Lew: A little paranoid, right?
Me: Not when it comes to ticks.
Lew: Oh, we don’t have ticks.
Me: You… don’t have ticks? So there is no Lyme disease?
Lew: Lyme disease? Is this something you get from drinking too many margaritas?
I found your ignorance of bloodborne pathogens wonderfully refreshing. I saw all the advantages of living in California: no winters, close to the Pacific Ocean, and less chance of dying from a lingering illness. I had to move to California!
Me: I want to be your new neighbor. How much does a house cost here?
Lew: Our house is worth $1.3 million.
Me: 1.3 million dollars? But, but, your house is SMALLER than our house in Wisconsin!
Lew: That’s the current price.
After all, we flew back to Wisconsin with a greater appreciation for our hometown. Jane and I sat in the backyard of our house, which was one-eighth the price of a house in California. A mosquito landed on my triceps and buried its proboscis into my soft tissues. I smiled benevolently at him and said, “God bless you, my little real estate deflator.” CLOUT. “Rest in peace.”
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