Don’t go outside wearing a neon shirt at dusk. Just don’t.

“Mosquitos will be out,” I thought and forgot in an instant. Cool, quiet air greeted my entrance onto the porch as crickets began to warm up their legs for the ballad we often get after bedtime. This was my clue. But I got cocky.

Coiled on the side of our house I took the hose from its hanger and sprayed my flowers, my babies, when the first one found me. I felt the pinch as he feasted, the brat. Minutes later, I’m scratching.

But one bite feels like a dozen, have you noticed? I’m watering, and swatting, and I become paranoid. Before I know it I’m putting nails to my head, both my arms, the dip between my collarbone, my eyelid. I am a sight. The neighbors may be listing come Tuesday.

So take it from me, if you choose neon, wait until day.