Of Mites and Men

I've learned a lot of lessons along the way since I began writing this blog way back in 2008, not the least of which is that there is absolutely no way to please everyone who reads my posts. There are people who complain about what I write about and those who complain about what I don't write about. There are people who think I write too often and those who think I don't write often enough. There are people who fuss that my posts are too long and those who fuss that they're too short. There just simply is no way that I can please everyone no matter how hard I try. Which is why tonight, following an especially rousing round of email reading earlier this evening, I've decided to write about a subject that many will find controversial or not in good taste or perhaps even offensive ... sorry, but it's a subject that I quite literally need to get off of my chest before I go insane. 

As I sit here typing this post, I'm desperately fighting the urge to scratch the multitude of bug bites on my neck, back, arms and yes, even my breasts. That's right ... from my boobs up, I've got the most painful, itchy bug bites I've ever had in my entire life. When they first started popping up a couple of weeks ago, I thought they were chigger or mosquito bites ... but I typically get bites from those two types of critters on my legs or around my waist rather than on the top part of my body. And for all the chigger and mosquito bites I've had, I've never had even one that itched like the bites I have now ... I've gone through a whole large tube of Benedryl cream just since Saturday in an attempt to keep myself from scratching my skin off. And there's another thing about these bites that's different ... on top of being the bites from hell when it comes to itching, they're painful. These stupid bites itch like crazy and they hurt ... they hurt like a zit hurts, only worse.

Just when I was beginning to think the bug bites weren't actually bug bites at all but rather zombie venom that was somehow being injected into my upper torso while I slept, my two walking buddies told me about oak mites. Oak mites ... not mosquitoes, not chiggers and certainly not zombie venom ... oak mites. Apparently, the microscopic little jerks fall from the leaves of oak trees, and this year in the Midwest there's an infestation of the creatures that hasn't been seen in more than 10 years. The little suckers are so small that you can't see them and worse still, you don't even know you've been bitten until a couple of days later when you're scratching and clawing like a crazy person. I've officially come to the conclusion that I really hate oak mites and should I get to heaven one day, I fully intend to have a strongly worded conversation with the Big Guy himself as to why He created such loathsome creatures.

So what's the lesson? What's my "here's the thing" for tonight's post? Stay away from oak trees ... you just might have a whole flock of oak mites jump on your head. Go ahead ... think about that one for a while ... think about it for a good long while.