There I was, happily working away. Calmly. (And by “calmly” I meant playing solitaire while I tried to figure out what to write next.) Minding my own business. (And by “minding my own business” I mean and watching NCIS.)
When I felt a small little brush on my finger.
I looked down and there was nothing there.
So I resumed working. Diligently. (And by “diligently” I mean I was reading through my Facebook feed.)
And thought I saw a little black spot out of the corner of my eye.
I looked down. Nothing. I have a lot of floaters in my eyes, so I assumed that’s what I’d seen.
My thumb started to itch. I scratched and went back to work. (And by “work” I mean checking to see what was going on in the Twitterverse.)
And there was that little flirty brush again. I looked—nothing.
Frustrated, I looked back at the screen, and there it was. A mosquito. Not the super-huge variety, but a small, nasty bite-y kind.
With lightning-fast reflexes, I smooshed that little sucker. I feel quite victorious.