Thursday, December 12, 2013


Someone advises me to bomb our house to get rid of the hordes of Argentine ants running amuck. Unfortunately defpggers are not the answer for an ant infestation—I tend to try & die long after the house is deemed safe for human habitation. I must be part insect.

One time, our landlord, who had taken a shine to Bob, decided to bomb our new house as there were fleas in the shag carpet from the previous tenant. He used two foggers—to be safe. He was very pleased with his work. 

Eight hours later, we came back to a lovely flealess house. As I was putting things on the top shelf, I could smell the faux floral essence of pesticide. My ankles were pleased. No more bites. But Buggins wouldn't come back inside the house.

I should've guessed. Soon it became harder to breathe, my throat was raw, and my ribs hurt from trying to breathe. I began to feel drowsy. Dim alarms went off, the penny dropped. Pesticide! I staggered outside, and began to feel better. But every time I entered the house, my symptoms returned.

I had to camp out in the back yard for a month before the house detoxed enough for me to go back inside. It was a very cold October-November in Cotati, as I recall. I had to take a big breath and run into the house to eat, change, use the loo, etc. I became sensitized and even the minutest trace of defogger still sets me off.

rev 12/16

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