The Boogie Dance

So... um... there are a lot of insects here.

Nothing new, I'm sure. And really, they don't bother me as long as they aren't crawling on me. Which means that going to sleep is sometimes tricky, as I have to shake out my blanket before I crawl into bed.

Once I opened my laptop and started typing and a stream of tiny ants came pouring out.

I have a gecko that lives in my room, and it's such a pleasure to watch him chase and gulp down winged things and squirmy long-legged things, but sometimes he just doesn't try hard enough.

But the worst one came yesterday evening, when I slipped back into my blue jeans after an afternoon nap and ran downstairs to the mess hall only to feel, when I sat down, something crawling on my leg.

Under the pants.

It wasn't, of course, as if I could tear off my pants in a dining room full of people and investigate. And I wasn't about to scream either, though I did want to. It was a very large something, whatever it was.

So I booked it out onto the veranda with the thing still clinging to me, and then reached down and grabbed a handful of denim. It moved. I grabbed another handful. Got it. And then I squeezed and wrung until whatever it was made small crackling noises, breaking into pieces and leaving a stain that soaked completely through the jeans.

And then I ran up to my bedroom and stripped, but I could find neither the insect remains nor the evidence of any kind of insect bite, which is good.

And then I let out a stream of obscenities which I will not reprint.

The end.