It is very hot today, which has the unfortunate effect of exacerbating my flea-bitten condition. Last night I spent over three hours on my hands on knees, brushing a fine, fine mixture of Borax and diatomaceous earth into every square foot of carpet in our house. The dust mixed with sweat to form clay as my hair hardened. I was gray.
The Partner laughed in between grunts as he hauled furniture out of its place so that I wouldn't miss a single flea fiber. "Now I know what you're going to look like in 30 years," he said.
All I could do was smile. Despite a dust mask, there were too many foreign particles in my brain area for coherent thought to flourish.
It's the waiting that really sucks. The itching isn't so bad on its own; each tiny eruption is comparable to the bloodthirst of a mini mosquito. But not knowing if our efforts last night will have any effect is what seems to magnify the irritation on my feet, my ankles, my right ass cheek and my hands.
From what I understand, we are supposed to have faith that the treatment will work by slashing and suffocating the larvae. We won't know for sure for a couple of weeks because the already-hatched fleas may linger. With Roxie juiced up with another round of K-9 Advantix, we're hoping she will no longer be the hospitable host the fleas are looking for.
There was a time when fleas were just a hazy concept to me. Those were the days. Now I'm not sure that I can attend a "flea market" anymore without exhibiting a nervous twitch as I wander the aisles, reflecting on the derivation of that term.
Did I mention I'm hot? Because I am, thanks to you! My post 24/7/730 won the Hot Stuff designation at GNMparents. Thanks to everyone who enjoyed the post and voted for it, including The Partner, who informs me that his vote was the one that put me over the edge.