I feel… dirty.
It’s not even my fault, I had no control over it.
If I tell you why, I’m doing so at the risk of having you view me in a different light, but I have to tell you because I don’t have anything else to write about this week. This has literally been taking up every single minute of my life!
I know, that sounds dramatic, but it’s true, every single waking moment of my life has been dealing with this, this… crisis I was thrown into.
I’ve been bitten repeatedly.
Dirty, disgusting, blood-sucking insects.
I haven’t had to deal with something sucking so much blood outta me since my second husband. I think I’ve lost more blood the past couple weeks than after that one abortion I had. Okay no, I didn’t have one. Who only has one abortion?
They were in my bedroom, my private chamber, my pleasure dome!
Ugh. Yuck. Yeesh. Blegh.
I have bites all over my body, they’re everywhere! And when I say everywhere, I mean, everywhere. I found one on my filet… my filet! You know that part of the buttocks that’s right next to the crack and attaches to the back of the thigh which is not so much muscle as it is a tender piece of flesh? That’s the filet. Go ahead shove your hand down your pants right now and give it a squeeze, you’ll know what I’m talking about. They even got me on one of my shirt potatoes… I mean, my God, these fuckers know quality when they find it! I can’t remember the last time my nipple got sucked on like that!
My first thought was “Oh crap, they’re bedbugs!” but how did I get them? It’s not like I go around sleeping with the homeless. Although there was that one guy… his skin-tight leather pants looked as if they’d been plastered on him since 1986, and there was a slight, hmm… how shall I say it, musk scent to his nether regions… but no, couldn’t have been him, he had a first and last name, a full profile on OneNightFriend.com, and a place to live. It’s not like he invited me over to his tent on Hollywood Blvd!
Then I remembered that trip I took last month where I stayed in a cabin, and realized that must be where I had gotten ‘em, so I emailed the owner about it and she called me the next day. I said she was a dirty, dirty bird and how could she have done this to me and did she not realize how terrible and difficult it is to deal with those nasty things?! She was very apologetic and told me she got so upset after reading my email, she had nightmares, and all I could think was Lady, you may have had nightmares but I’m living one!
No, I did not ask for monetary compensation because I’m not that type of person, I only wanted to bring it to her attention so she could prevent any of her other customers from getting them. And anyway my lawyer said there’d be no way to prove it…
so I let sleeping dogs lay… lie… and that’s when it struck me: dogs. Dogs get fleas. I don’t have dogs, I have cats, but the saying isn’t: Let sleeping cats lay… lie… and it was then I concluded they might be fleas, so I decided I’d better consult with a professional exterminator.
I was hoping the exterminator guy was gonna be hot because who doesn’t want a really hot guy inspecting your private chamber *snort *snicker
“Hey baby, want a piece of my filet?” *snicker *snort
Unfortunately he wasn’t hot, but he was really good at his job because he determined right away they were fleas, and he didn’t try to “fleas” me by charging me for bedbugs. Get it? Fleece/fleas? Anyway, finding that out was kinda like saying: I got good news, and I got bad news. But I’d much rather have fleas than bedbugs, and I know that sounds just awful. I sound like a dirty bird and I’m not.
I’m a fleabag.
I have red, puffy dots all over my body and it looks like I have smallpox. I mean, who’d wanna sleep with someone that looks like they have smallpox?!…
Hello? Anybody out there? I’m waiting for one of you dicks to raise your hand already, don’t leave me standing here like a dumbass.