I visited my parents last Monday. My dad complained of bug bites. I looked at them. Clustered in three, I was deeply moved – bed bugs.
Investigating the mattress, I came upon the left behind puddles of bed bugs. Saw a dead one in the middle of their mattress. Their electric blanket covered with newly hatched bugs.
My dad immersed himself in his man cave. When we next saw him, he said he could handle it. Spoken like a true naive about-to-be-warrior, of the eternal Bed Bug War.
My mother safely ignored all signs of his condescension and proceeded with her breakfast of two flat crackers with cheese, sip of water with lemon, and a hearty handful of my sister’s homemade turmeric (golden) wonder.
My mother began once again about the lack of her Livingston. She said my dad was upset with her and didn’t trust her in the water.
Fact: My dad does not know how to swim.
She said, he said, “how can I go save you when I can’t swim?”
My parents. The Bed Bugs. Those Facts.