I’m sure they wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about it, but if the marketing campaigners at Carlsberg decided to make a new advert and for some bizarre reason insisted on including an insect-bite-analogy in said advert, I am confident that I would be hand-picked to showcase the insect bites.
Insects love me. I don’t know why. Or to be more accurate, they love biting me. I suppose you could say that insects love to torture me. Or they are strangely drawn to my skin, my blood, my fat tissue, something. I am quite certain of this fact because I wake up every day with a new red lump on my arms or legs.
When I first moved here to this tropical-insect-attracting-jungle climate also known as The Sunshine State, I found myself becoming hysterical about getting bites. I would whine and itch and whine and itch and then take extra hot showers just to sooth the itch. Then, as a demonstration of my solid belief that you can pretty much get used to anything, I started to get used to it, almost but never quite reaching the stage of it not bothering me. I almost got there but didn’t quite get the chance to finalise this stage of my emotional evolution.
Why, you ask? Well, I think the insect army decided that their surgical-strike-offensive waged against my arms and legs had not been as successful as hoped. I can only conclude this because they launched a new, much more…offensive, offensive. Yes it was a very offensive offensive, this new offensive. This new tactic…yes, time to change words, my overuse of that word is becoming…off…annoying. Anyway, this new tactic involved adding alien or snake DNA into their fangs. I can’t quite tell, it’s probably alien as snakes as poisonous and I’m still alive.
As a result, now every time they stage an attack, I wake up to find DVD-sized red lumps on my body. What used to be the size of a small coin is now the size of a small baby head. What used to be the swollenness of a woman with inconsequential breasts is now the swollenness of the Bride of Wildenstein’s face. Since being victimised by these racist insects, who are obviously targeting me because I’m white and not Floridian-tanned, I have taken quite a few steps back from my getting-used-to-daily-insect-bites progress. However, if Carlsberg wants to get in touch, I’ll happily endure more for the prospect of appearing in a ‘If Carlsberg did Insect Bites’ advertising campaign.
You know where to find me, Carlsberg. I’ll be in the insect bite cream section at Walmart.