Sleepless Night With Mosquitoes: With Wings

It started with a buzz.
Not loud. Confident.
Like something that had already decided I was dinner.

Then another.
Then four.

Zoe got tagged first, because of course she did. My little girl, not a perfect dog, just tragically warm and minding her own business. Many sat on Zoe. Then on me. Like we were a tasting menu, rotating courses.

Out came the swatting bat.
Lights on.
Lights off.
On again.

Two idiots in a mosquito nightclub with no exit.

They vanished when we looked. Returned the second we lay down. Ninjas with a thirst problem. We hid under the sheet playing seek of sleep, holding our breath like that would impress anyone.

Every buzz said, we found you.
Every bite said, we’re not leaving.

Zoe twitched.
I negotiated with the ceiling.
No one won.

By morning, we were dotted, exhausted, and emotionally closer than most married couples. Somewhere out there, four very smug mosquitoes were probably writing Yelp reviews about us.

Five stars.
Would bite again.

Nights like this remind me why sleep is never just sleep, it’s a negotiation I’ve written about before in Coffee Isn’t My Fix. It’s the Ceasefire.