MICKI BARE Advertisement

The mosquitoes in my neck of the woods know their days are numbered. For 2007, at least. Soon we will enjoy the outdoors without fear of contracting West Nile virus or coming home with an array of itchy, pink bumps on exposed body parts.

The recent cold wave we enjoyed foreshadowed late fall evenings spent outside bundled up in comfortable sweaters instead of sticky bug spray. We took advantage of the cooler weather by hanging out on the front porch watching the sun set. And even though dusk blanketed our neighborhood, the mosquitoes did not, and we returned to the kitchen to put together school lunches for the next day unscathed.

A string of cool evenings lulled us into a false sense of security. We didn't think twice as we headed out after supper wearing our shorts and T-shirts, protected from the elements by only a sweater to keep us from catching one of those weather-change-related colds.

Within days, the weather began to get a little warmer again. It wouldn't be really warm for long, but meteorologists were predicting a few scorchers before cool air settled in for the season. This warming trend was not expected to be a big enough threat to warrant re-booting our air conditioning.

But it was enough. There was enough moisture from the tropical rains. There was enough heat in the atmosphere. Summer put up a good fight, hoping to stay alive despite the arrival of autumn. And it was all just enough to resurrect the swarms. But we had packed away the bug spray. The calamine lotion was nowhere in sight. We did, however, still have our shorts and T-shirts on hand.

The evening was ripe for the dramatic events that occurred next. It was a school night -- and an unseasonably warm one at that. A record number of teenaged boys were congregated in the cul-de-sac for a serious pick-up game of touch football. Hubby was strumming some popular tunes on his guitar. I sat next to him, enjoying the weather and the sounds of about 20 boys, including my own three, playing by the waning light of the sun and the slow-growing glow of the streetlights.

Slap. Smack. Ouch. Swat. It took me a few minutes to realize that I had been targeted by swarms of newly hatched, late season mosquitoes. Clearly they had decided they would enjoy one more feast before the season -- and their lives -- ended. Their last meal before being sentenced to death by dropping temperatures would be found on my legs and arms.

Some had precious few seconds to enjoy their last bites as my hand snapped down, providing for swift execution. As for me, the innocent target, pain and confusion began to take over. I was swatting and bouncing around, doing some kind of mosquito-defense dance. Finally I came to my senses, or maybe it was Hubby who made the suggestion, and I retreated into the house.

I surveyed the damage. An impressive design of various-sized welts -- some a direct result of my slaps, some a reaction to the poison dispersed by the feasting mosquitoes -- covered my arms and legs. The itching and pain settled in quickly and I found myself tearing apart the bathrooms and kitchen in search of calamine lotion.

Hubby was right behind me, pushing through the medicine cabinet and dumping out the contents of every first aid kit stored in the house and in the trunks of our cars, desperately looking for something containing diphenhydramine.

With cotton balls, I slathered on the calamine lotion, happy that we had the clear formula. Had it been the calamine lotion of my childhood, my arms and legs would have looked as if I'd just dipped them in Pepto-Bismol.

Hubby handed me two pink and yellow pills and a glass of water. My kids, who had finally returned to the house, de-cluttered my recliner and handed me the remote. My boys can be so thoughtful when they find the woman who cooks their meals and funds their skate park fees and sports equipment in crisis.

About 30 minutes later, I was comfortably watching a chick flick while trying not to doze off before the kids turned in for the night.

Hubby busied himself putting away all the first aid and medicine cabinet paraphernalia. Then he dug out the bug spray -- my armor against any lingering attacks from late season, vicious mosquitoes.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.