Dear Mosquito Hawk who has been in my shower since Tuesday,

I thought we had an agreement.

I thought from the way we eyed each other warily on Tuesday morning, the sun only a smudged blur of light outside the window, that we understood each other.

It was a two-part agreement, a contract where each party had a specific responsibility. My responsibility was to let you live. Your responsibility was to come no closer.

As it has been explained to me by very intelligent, well-meaning, all-living-things loving people, mosquito hawks are actually good pests to have around. They kill mosquitoes, thereby protecting me from a host of diseases, such as West Nile virus, malaria, and bubonic plague. (I'm iffy on the last one.) Recently, I have become aware that I am more of a target for mosquitoes than others. Exhibit A: Will and I spent fifteen minutes in the backyard last Saturday night. He emerged unscathed. I had twenty-four bites of varying sizes (pinprick to BB) on my legs. Therefore, my second thought upon seeing you against the far end of the shower, a winged horror against the white tile, was that I would let you live. I could adapt to this new set of circumstances. We could live together, you killing mosquitoes and me not killing you.

And then, you got greedy.

For no reason at all, you left your spot on the wall and took a dizzying flight, while I screamed, clutching a loofah close to my body. You flapped dangerously near to my face, and this was where I am sorry to say we had to part ways.

I would like you to know that I still hold your species in high respect.

Sincerely,

The Girl Who Showers Alone