I wonder if I will matter to the fleas when they are dead. At any rate, I hate fleas. We have been waging war on the delightful jumping creatures since we returned from vacation. The vet says we probably have one more week of this. Anyone who has battled fleas knows how exhausting and uncomfortable it is. Uncomfortable because every time a piece of lint or a stray hair touches your skin, you think it's a flea out to get you. Every time you have an itch and you can't find the reason, you assume it is a flea and then begin obsessively checking any animal that is even remotely near you. And so you cover your beautiful couch of only a year old with white, polka-dotted sheets. to avoid fleas falling between the cushions and starting a crazy breeding party in your furniture.
Having fleas is exhausting because it requires laundering everything you own upon the initial outbreak. And by everything, I simply mean all the things the animals that have fleas have been around. And in our house, that means...everything. Luckily, I didn't have to wash much in the way of clothing, but I had to wash every towel, every dog and cat bed, every blanket and sheet, and other random items throughout the house.
And then we bombed. During the hours we waited outside of the house with the two dogs and two cats, we tore out all of the bushes and flowers and weeds (mostly weeds really) from the flower beds in the front yard. And by all, I mean ALL OF IT. We have a bald house now, but it looks a ton better than it did previous to our tear-out session. One day, we'll get it together. If anyone has extra bricks, we are accepting donations. We've been putting off fixing our curb appeal (of which we have much less than most of the houses in our little neighborhood), and so, FINE, I guess the fleas did us one good thing. But that is all I grant them.
a. eat bon=bons
b. watch tv
e. prepare to go to the Bush's Beans Museum
As much as I wish we got to go back inside after an afternoon of "fixing" our curb appeal and eat bon-bons and watch tv and knit and travel to Bush's Beans, we got to vacuum instead. Again.
At that point, the bomb point, we were a full week into flea-hell. And today, we are nearly two weeks into it. I am not seeing the boogers in the house, but they are certainly bothering my babies , and I am still finding new red bites on me every day. I would say that I think the vet is right, that the fleas are now on their way out because I am finding fewer on our furry brood every day, but that might jinx us.
ANYWAY, now that I have jinxed us, I guess I'll bring this to a close to re-confirm my initial assumption that, no, fleas will not matter when I am dead.
Unless I get into trouble over the fact that husband and I throw small parties with cake after we successful catch and drown the stupid bugs.