The poetics of mosquitos

& an outdoorsy pickup line

I’m just back from a weekend in Catalonia, hiking in the Pyrenees and getting reacquainted with a childhood staple: mosquito bites. I gave my blood, they gave me the following two pieces. Fair trade.

The mosquito in my bedroom leaves a review for last night’s seven-course meal

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Divine. No reservation, and we were invited to seat ourselves anywhere.

It was a tasting menu. First, something light—a small bit of wrist. Tangy, iron-forward. Lightly salted with seasonal sweat. Just enough to whet the palate.

Second course, a little heavier. Right thigh.

Coincidentally, courses three through five were also right thigh. A bit repetitive for my taste, but my wife couldn’t get enough. Something about the texture, she said.

Course six—and this was a bit extravagant—left ankle, garnished with a home-grown wild hair that’s apparently been missed for seven shaving cycles.

At this point, I was stuffed. But how could I resist the final course? Which was, in fact, also right thigh. This time, just above the crease of the knee. A dangerous harvest, but all the sweeter for it.

All in all, an A+ experience. Possibly O+. At the risk of sounding uncultured, it really does all taste the same to me.

ft. a farmhouse originally built in the 1200s and... right thigh

And for the single folk, a pickup line

Hey babe, are you the outdoorsy type? Bc I wanna share a tent with you and one very persistent mosquito so at night when that mosquito gets hungry, it will feast on the both of us and deep in its belly, our blood oath will be born.

I mean, wanna hike?

Happy summer to all!