I – the dogless, catless, kidless, spouseless, single business professional with an obsessively clean one bedroom apartment – have fleas. How did this happen?
Yesterday evening when I got home from work, a cheerful yellow pamphlet greeted me on my kitchen counter. It was from the leasing office, informing me that they had sprayed the entire complex for roaches, so I “should expect to see increased roach activity as the boric acid does its work.” Oh joy.
I can handle spiders. And ants. And crickets. And a lot of other bugs that freak people out. But I don’t do roaches. So all night long, I felt creepy, crawly itchiness all over me. I convinced myself that it was all in my head; a psychological effect of imagining roaches crawling all over my apartment. *Shudder*
But this morning, I woke up covered in bites and thought, “Hmm… roaches don’t bite…. Oh no… It wasn’t all in my head!!!” Gross, gross, gross! I looked down at my splotchy pink legs and smashed two tiny black bugs jumping around my ankles. FLEAS. Noooooooooo!
It’s true that I fostered a kitten for a weekend, but that was nearly a month ago. Wouldn’t the fleas have shown up before now? Could the pest control guy have tracked in fleas from some of the other units he was spraying? Ultimately, I don’t care where the little monsters came from. I just want them all to be dead before I crawl back into my bed tonight!
Suddenly roaches don’t seem quite so scary in the face of hundreds of little bugs sucking my blood all through the night.