The Winged Menace

Mostly, when I think of leaving New Orleans in a month or so, I'm sad. I'll be leaving my friends, and gorgeous, jealousy-inducing weather in February, and decaying yet romantic houses, and the general charm that is this city. However, right now, I'm mostly thinking of how nice it will be to live in a city that doesn't play host to those fucking demon termites that are swarming right now. I just saw a couple in the kitchen and it nearly caused a nervous breakdown. After last year's horrid infestation, and the resulting two weeks that I spent living on my couch (the living room was inexplicably termite-free), I can't deal with them. They induce the sort of instant, run for your life fear usually reserved for spiders. I hate them. I hate them so much. I don't want to spend the next two weeks sitting petrified on the ottoman in front of the couch, whimpering in fear while Max deals with the flying menace. So I'm sending it out into the ether: no termites this year, please. I promise to be a good girl. I'll help old ladies across the street, and I won't even be too catty. Just tell the termites to leave me alone.