Last week at work I overheard someone say, “Oh they were awful. I couldn’t get away from them.”
I whirled around. “Gnats!” I said. “You’re talking about gnats.”
”Yes! What is it with the gnats this year?”
”It’s the flood,” I answered, because I had already Googled “what is it with the gnats this year” and found that every news station along the Mississippi has run a gnat report.
The only thing is, I remember the Great Flood of ‘93, and there were no gnats. Then again, that crested in August, and gnats are a springtime pest.
I’ve become able to identify gnat bites (a circular bruise surrounding a small bump). I got these bites while Gary and I were working in the in-laws’ garden. He finally had to resort to working with a handkerchief pinned to his face by his glasses. (It was just thin enough for him to see through.)
Damn you, gnats, for making me want hot and dry weather over my lovely soft rain.