This past weekend Ben (that is my long-time boyfriend) and I went to a cottage on Lac de la Mere Bleu in Quebec. Having grown up in B.C., I tend to forget the horrid tales that my dad, who used to live in Ontario, told me of the swarming black flies. But spending an afternoon in a canoe, with no head netting at hand, has taught me not to forget those tales again.
I was viciously attacked by black flies. They look like fruit flies from the Okanogan Valley, except for when you wipe the back of your neck and are suprised to see christmas red blood dripping from your hands. Yes, those tiny bugs they call black flies eat your blood. And they do it without mercy. Ben counted over 30 bites on my neck alone. By Friday evening, I had begun to swell up and turn red with little dots all over my skin. On Saturday, I was aching all over - sort of like you do with the flu - and by Sunday I was ready to take a bristle brush and rub it all over the bites.
Needless to say, I miss the days of Horse Flies from B.C., where at least you could hear them coming for you and have time to prepare for a painful bite. I most definitely was not prepared for this itchy, unbearable feeling. But... at least there is always Benadryl.
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