mosquitoes

Last week, my wife and I visited some friends who have recently retired and moved to Smith Mountain Lake. When we arrived, they gave us a brief tour of their home, including the deck that looks out over the lake. They explained that the deck was where they spend most of their time. Anticipating that we would be spending a lot of time on the deck while visiting, I asked “How are the mosquitoes?”

As I recall, the wife said, “There aren’t any.” And the husband said, “They are not bad.” That night, while sitting on their deck, I could feel the “not bad” mosquitoes nibbling on my ankles. I noticed my wife was scratching her arms. I also noticed that our hosts were not scratching at all. When they saw us being eaten alive they came to our rescue with citronella candles and bug spray, but it all made me wonder; why do some people get bitten by mosquitoes and others don’t?

So, I looked it up on the internet and read something very interesting. Mosquitoes do indeed prefer some people over others. I found out that this is a common phenomenon, and there are several reasons for it. It seems that mosquitoes prefer humans that have type O blood, those who exhale more carbon dioxide, those who tend to have a higher natural body temperature, those with a higher metabolic rate, those who wear certain colognes, and those who wear darker colors.

If our friends were to write a Psalm about their retirement home, it might go something like this: I call it the 23rd Perspective

The Lord is my Deet, I shall not be bitten

He makes me lie down in green forests, as though there were netting around me

He leads me away from standing water, where the mosquito doth breed

He relights my citronella candle when it is blown out

Yeah though I walk through infestations, I will fear no scratching, for my blood type is A

He preparest a bug zapper, where my tormentors are fried.

He preparest a table before me whilst the mosquito looks thereon

But I dress in white and my body temperature is below average

Surely, itching and scratching will be foreign, and we shall live at Smith Mountain forever