At first, everything about our hotel room seemed great… until
nightfall, when we noted a problem.
Mosquitoes. Everywhere.
During our visit, we learned that they built Venice on top of a lagoon. And,
since mosquitoes live, grow, breed, and love watery places, they loved Venice.
Big time. We noticed how many modern day Venetians used smart inventions, like
window screens, to stop mosquitoes from flying into their homes. Unfortunately, our hotel didn’t.
The problem started when the cleaning lady left the window
open in our room. That acted as a blinking neon sign, inviting all mosquitoes
along the Grand Canal to stop by and enjoy a feast. The first night, I watched about a dozen mosquitoes flit
along the walls and ceiling.
Ben didn’t freak out, but I definitely did. I imagined them
circling my head in a feeding frenzy, crawling in my hair and under the covers. I smashed as many mosquitoes as I could
with a magazine. I emulated some
of the German Clint Eastwood’s moves to kill them with better precision.
Since I couldn’t get all of the mosquitoes, I slept as stiff
and still as possible with the bedcovers pulled tightly around my chin. I took shallow breaths because I feared
they might be attracted to carbon dioxide as I exhaled (an unproven theory). I
woke up eight hours later in the same position with some buzzing around my ears.
Ben, on the other hand, slept shirtless with the covers kicked
off, which was a perfect diversion from me. Since he exposed his skin to the mosquitoes, they didn’t
bother me near as much as they bothered me. I like to think that did that out
of love.
He is such a good, good husband.
Mosquito Central
Free breakfast in the hotel courtyard
Sprichst du Deutsch, Clint Eastwood? I am impressed.
(Do you speak German, Clint Eastwood?)
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