Biting my ankle was out of order.
And I know it was you.
And it bled.
Which is very inconvenient, given the sheets were white and it was four a.m. and I should have been asleep. Would have been asleep.
Hell, you should have been asleep. In case you haven’t noticed, it is England in January. Minus two degrees. What happened to hibernation?
I, at least, was in bed. Okay, I suppose you were too, but I didn’t invite you. Find your own.
I don’t even know what you are. A mozzie I would know about. It would itch.
You, on the other hand, appear to operate by stealth attack, leaving only the warm, unfamiliar trickle of blood down the ankle to alert me to the invasion of my sheets.
If, by any chance, you were the eight legged monstrosity currently rather flattened and feet up beside the bed, I am sorry. The bare foot was completely inadvertent, I do assure you.
If you are anything else, I would appreciate it if you would vacate the premises.
It might, indeed, be advisable on several counts, given the currently lurgied state of your host. Who knows what horrors eating me might visit upon your health after all?
Can bugs get bugs?
Do you really want to find out???