Fleas

Fleas suck. Literally...I have no blood left in my ankles and they are covered in horrid scabs that I inadvertently keep scratching off and not realizing that I've just scratched off a scab. I'm oblivious to the blood running down my leg until I'm in the grocery store and just happen to glance down at my foot with the dried blood stains. I'm wearing shorts & flip flops -so yes, people will notice even though I try and convince myself they won't. I'm going to have some really nasty scarring. There goes my shoe modeling career, unless of course I'm modeling riding boots. Then I'm good to go. Yeah me!

I am still trying to figure out where the damn things came from. We have an indoor cat and I'm pretty certain, if he had no fur would look something like my ankles. The vet said they could have been dormant all winter and just started to "wake" up as the weather started to warm up OR we could have carried them in on our shoes. A flea version of a wagon train. Little bastards. Makes me wish I was Native American. They bite and the itch just stays with you. It's the gift that just keeps giving. My mother-in -law said they are suppose to die after two weeks if they no longer have a food source which was really discouraging news to me because it would appear that I am their food source. I'm like the mother load and their inviting friends to dine with them. If I weren't so afraid to die, I'd drink poison just to have a little fun with them.

I know eventually as it gets cooler they will go away, but I'm wondering how much of my ankles I will have left. Matt, my husband said "we" should bomb the house, but "we" all know exactly what that means...me, me me. It's not just a matter of setting off some flea bombs and sitting down to read a book. It involves getting the kids, myself, maybe Matt (depending on my mood), the animals out of the house for at least 4 hours and then coming home and cleaning EVERYTHING!! That is a large chunk of my life right there...killing fleas. I will never get that back, ever.