A few weeks ago,
my roommate came in to the dining room and was like, “Um, I have something I
want to talk to you about,” and immediately I started thinking that I had been
doing something small and unnoticeable to me but that had nevertheless been
driving her unrelentingly crazy and had been building up for months and months
and months.
Then, she was
like, “I think we may have bedbugs,” and she told me about how several nights earlier
she had woken up with a small row of bites on her arm.
It turns out
that I had had the same thing happen a few months earlier, one night when I was
reading in bed, and all of a sudden this row of bites appeared on my arm and
eventually swelled together in one big welt.
So, I told her
that since that had happened so much earlier and never repeated and the bites
sounded like they were the same kind, maybe it wasn’t bedbugs after all, but
instead spiders or something, which would be better.
“I’m really not
sure what kind of infestation I prefer,” she was like.
. . .
Eventually, one
night when we were both hanging out at the apartment of my one hippie friend from
Michigan, we looked online, and the bites looked like flea bites, I thought.
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