Mug, we moeten praten
As a specimen from the order of the two-winged ones (that's really how it is on Wiki) you're probably not used to receiving letters, but I need to get something off my chest. You have a bad influence on me and my beloved. There, it's out.
Because of you, we hang in the lamps at night and not in a good and giggly way. When I wake up in the morning, I feel like I've downed three bottles of white soldier. But in reality, my sleep eyes (which I can't see a thing with, because I have minus three) scanned every inch of the ceiling looking for you. I rolled out of bed at five this morning while still taking a detour in the Deet, but I think you all see that nowadays as a pleasant little perfume, and my beloved was sitting upright in bed with the smacker at the ready. What I'm telling you: you're bad for me and my beloved. It was an eventful night.
“My left leg looks more like a war zone”
By the way, I'm not getting any prettier either. I left yesterday with two landmarks of the mosquito on my leg to the editorial office, today I have eight more. My left leg looks more like a war zone than anything else, because I drape it très ladylike around the duvet at night. You see that as a Himalaya of prick opportunities plus the necessary filling. When you tried to crawl into my ear around six in the morning (why are you trying that?), I discovered that you turned my already not very slender ankle into a disaster area. I have a bracelet of pinpricks on it now. My love even tries to fool me by saying that you're not there. So that the light stays off. And the Deet doesn't come out. To make sure I stay far away from the polar bears in the bedroom. And my disappointment when you performed the disappearing act.
For the sake of form, I declare you the Vechtmug, given the location where we now live. Honestly, the Brabant mosquito was a lot more pleasant. You Vechtmuggen seem to possess the gift of disappearing or you're just thinner and therefore more invisible than the Brabanders (it's still the Randstad). When that old faithful Brabo had his fill, he would sit somewhere contentedly in full view. But you Vechters are tiny and crawl around in the shadows (forgive my drama) just to strike again. And just a moment, huh? If you prick me eight times and him for fun a couple of times too, then you're also an insatiable greedy one. What do you need with all that blood, a weak copy of Dracula that you are.
Mosquito, I have eliminated your sister or your mother or your cousin. With my bare hands. And I liked it. So see this as the threat that it is, because you are next. I promise you.
