An Open Letter to Mosquitoes: Let’s Talk About Boundaries

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Dear Mosquitoes,

Look, we need to talk. And no, this isn’t one of those casual “Hey, how’s it buzzing?” chats. This is serious. You’ve been crossing some major lines lately, and frankly, it’s getting out of hand. It’s time we establish some ground rules because, mates, your lack of respect is starting to feel personal.

First off, why the sneak attacks? It’s the middle of summer; I’m out here trying to enjoy a lovely braai under the stars, and suddenly—WHAM—you’ve turned my legs into an all-you-can-eat buffet. Did I invite you? Nope. Yet here you are, gate-crashing my chill evening, leaving itchy souvenirs behind. Not cool.

Let’s address the noise. That high-pitched whining in my ear at 2 a.m.? Unacceptable. I don’t know if it’s a mating call, a victory lap, or just your version of karaoke, but whatever it is, stop it. Nobody likes an uninvited DJ at their sleep party. Especially not one with wings.

And what’s with the obsession with ankles? Is there some sort of mosquito memo that says, “Hit them where it’s hardest to scratch”? It’s like you’re actively seeking out the most inconvenient places to bite. Elbows? Knees? Right on the knuckles? You’re not just biting; you’re strategising. Honestly, it’s a bit much.

Can we also talk about personal space? I’m not saying you can’t exist. I get it—you’ve got to eat, and apparently, I’m on the menu. But do you have to be so clingy? There’s a whole ecosystem out there. Birds, frogs, lizards—they’d all happily take a few hits for the team. Why not spread the love?

Oh, and the audacity of you lot at the beach? I’m already battling sunburn, sand in places it shouldn’t be, and the occasional seagull invasion. Then you show up, acting like it’s happy hour. I’m just trying to live my life, mate. Can’t a person enjoy the outdoors without being turned into a pin cushion?

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “It’s nothing personal; it’s just biology.” Sure, but biology didn’t ask you to make it so dramatic. You don’t see bees pulling this nonsense. Bees work hard, pollinate flowers, and maybe sting someone as a last resort. You? You’re all take, no give. Where’s the balance, Mosquitoes? Where’s the respect?

And another thing: what’s with the allergic reactions? It’s not enough that you bite us; you also leave us with red, swollen reminders of your visit. It’s like you’re trying to mark your territory. Well, guess what? My arms, legs, and face are not your turf.

So here’s my plea: boundaries. Let’s work out a truce. You stick to your side of the garden, and I’ll stick to mine. You stay out of my house, and I won’t chase you around with a rolled-up magazine or industrial-strength repellent. Deal?

And if you can’t agree to that, then at least have the decency to buzz off during meal times. Nobody wants to explain to their mates why they’re frantically slapping themselves at the dinner table. It’s embarrassing, and quite frankly, it’s on you.

In conclusion, Mosquitoes, I don’t hate you. I just hate what you do. We can co-exist—I’m sure of it. But it starts with you respecting my space and my sanity. Let’s work on this relationship because, right now, it’s very one-sided.

Yours (begrudgingly),
Every Human on Earth