Wishing you pest of luck

Khaleej Times (Issues) / 19 July 2012

 

It is the season of pests. The weather in town is getting cozier for the creepy crowd to swarm into our homes, no matter how well swept, mopped and disinfected. The sightings of three bed bugs and some other romping creatures in our house last month openly challenged the hygiene quotient of my immaculate home and freaked me out of my wits. Of all the intruders, the most wicked is the bed bug - the nocturnal vampire that sets shop and proliferates as if there were no tomorrows.

I clearly remember the night it first registered its presence home. An itch on my elbow, followed by another. As the island grew on my arm I knew there was something on the prowl in the bed. I looked in the dark at the snoring bulk next to me, unsure if I must stir him out of sleep.

Something just bit me, I said shaking him.

Nothing bit me. You must be imagining, he mumbled when I tried again.

Imagining? You don’t imagine such things. Look here, I said, stroking the island on my arm.

He pulled the blanket and turned to the other side.

Frustrated with my attempts to wake him up, I turned the lights on. The sudden glare forced him to sit up and squint at me, irritation galore.

Get up. I want to check the bed, I said urgently.

I pulled the pillows and blankets out, flapped them hard, peered into the bed and then saw the frolicking, little pest against the pristine fabric.

There! Get him, I screamed.  By now wide awake, hubby boy swooped down on the devil and crushed it, leaving a brilliant red spot on the sheet.

That’s my blood, I squealed with horror as if I had just survived an attempt on my life.

Least amused by my theatrics, hubby boy slumped and picked up his sleep and snoring from where he had left off.

Turn the lights off when you are done, he droned.

I failed to fathom why in the world the bug had picked on me while the guy next to me slept like a baby, oblivious to the presence of the terror elements in our midst. Wallowing in the self pity of being a soft target, I lay awake, shuddering at the slightest tingle against my skin. A strand of hair, the fold of the sheet, the air from the AC, everything made my skin creep. Fear, when given some leeway, doesn’t just mar your sleep; it wrecks your sanity and causes brain damage.

Get the pest control guys immediately, I said the next morning. I‘m sure there are more guys holed up in there and we must flush them out ASAP, I said with the gravitas of a homeland security chief. And so, the commandoes arrived, armed to the hilt, to evict the evil creatures.

Our home is now sanitized. But the scourge and its lieutenants will creep back, I am sure, once the vigil slackens and the effect of the operation wears off.  It is impossible to wipe out evil completely, but that can’t push me into a state of perpetual fear, can it? You can’t stop taking the public transport or going to restaurants and hotels or giving clothes to the laundry for the fear of bed bugs. Just as you can’t stop eating out because of a recent report of food poisoning, or stop leaving your home because some house in the neighbourhood was broken into, or stop flying because you read about underwear bombs, or simply stop living because the new world is fraught with danger. Life has to go on, picking its way through the warren of apparent risks, genuine threats and perceived fears. Some precaution and prayer can help bolster our confidence. The rest is destiny, for, if anything can go wrong, it probably will.