"You know, I really should blog...nope, never mind, scratch that"

In case you haven't noticed, I've been saying that a lot lately. And I've meant it quite literally, too. Somehow, I've managed to get about a thousand chigger bites on my ankles and legs. OK, so it's more like fifty, but a thousand is about how many of the little red bastards I would like to kill in retaliation for having made life so miserable over the last three days.

If you live in the South, and especially if you spend a lot of time outdoors, you know what nasty little creatures chiggers are. They love to hang out in high grass and pine straw, waiting for some unlucky host (like me) to come by. They then latch on with their evil little mouths and begin turning your skin cells into a great big Slurpee. A day or so later, the chigger may be long gone, but you've got an itch that just won't quit. Kinda gross, I know, but I guess it's part of the price to be paid for living here in God's country. Which raises one question: are chiggers really more common in the South, or are the ones that live here (species chiggerus itchyum Alabamae) just particularly fond of/in closer proximity to humans? Or maybe it's just that Yankees don't taste good. I could believe that.

Anyway, that's enough of my whining. I suppose I should be glad that the critters weren't in a more amorous mood when they attacked. (If you know what I mean.) Talk about unpleasant!

(For more about chiggers, see here and here.)