Life here in paradise, as it turns out, is not always perfect. There are a few major flaws to living in Hawaii, I have found. The major one is the bugs. This is, you see, a tropical paradise. Tropical being the essential word in that phrase.
First, there are the mosquitos. I'm one of those people who mosquitos seem to really love biting, and as it turns out, pregnant women are also very prone to mosquito bites. So I'm getting them double. On top of that, I have this fabulous allergic reaction to mosquito bites--a huge, red welt swells up all around the bite and itches for days. You'd think I'd been attacked by leeches or something.
I could live with the mosquitos if they were the only bug around here, but no. You see, tropical bugs are special. By special, I mean HUGE. And terrifying. We get flying cockroaches the size of your hand that crawl under doorways and sneak into the house. Even the King, who isn't scared of bugs, has a hard time with them. The first time I begged him, crying, to kill one, he hovered with his paper towel over the enormous thing on the wall. "What's wrong?" I cried, covering my eyes and praying that it wouldn't fly toward me. "Dude, it's looking at me," he said.
And cockroaches aren't enough either. There are horrifying millipedes that look like something out of a Stephen King novel. Five inches long, it's not bad enough that they're huge and black and wiggly and disgusting. No, they have the added bonus of being able to deliver an agonizingly painful bite and sting. Nice.
And now I've twice found small poops in our bathroom. I suspect we have mice. I've never had mice in my house before (except as a pet once, as a kid), but I could probably deal with killing them. Except, if tropical mice are anything like tropical insects, they're probably the size of a hamster and vicious as hell, which means I'm in trouble.