As promised. The story of what happened to my feet. Or, why I am so itchy. Or, what $70 can buy you if you as lucky as me.
If you remember, I wrote a couple weeks ago about how my lovely roommate (love you Aaron!) let one of the cats out on accident. Apparently Mia picked up something else besides a taste for the great outdoors on her adventure…and brought in FLEAS! Eeeeew. I have never had to treat Basil for fleas in the year and a half I have had him…nor have I had to treat Mia in the time she has been under my care (as she is my surrogate cat, until my brother is back in a living situation where he can have her). So imagine my surprise when last week on Monday, Aaron casually goes, “oh, I think I just saw a flea.” Hmm. I thought, oh I will just go pick up some Advantage at the vet by my house tomorrow after work. Unfortunetly, that was the day I had to leave work at lunchtime to go help my sick mother survive her staph infection, so I stayed at work a little later to make up for that… not making it back to the neighb by 7pm (closing time for the vet) I figured, no big deal. I would just go Wednesday. So I get home, change into my pajamas, and sit down in the living room. I look down at my feet. There are about three fleas on each foot. Itty, bitty, little, teeny tiny fleas. Ew. I grab them all and throw them in the toilet. Drown, suckers. I walk back out. Again. Fleas on each foot. AACK! This happens about four or five more times in the next fifteen minutes. I am freaking out. I run out to my car, in my pajamas, and drive out to Delta Park to Petco. Advantage comes four to a pack. $70. yay. I buy it, along with some organic rosemary carpet spray. I race back home, thinking of my poor, itchy cats. I treat both of the cats and spray the carpet. The difference is drastic, and immediate. We have seen maybe one or two fleas a day since then. I actually haven’t seen any in the past couple days. I think all of the evil little things are DEAD. Phew. However. The damage was done. My feet look seriously BAD. I have about fifteen bites on each foot, five on each ankle, two or three on each leg, and a couple on my arms and sides. But my feet. Are. The. Worst. It doesn’t help matters that, being nine months pregnant, I can’t wear shoes to hide them. It’s flip-flops, everyday. It also doesn’t help that I itch itch itch myself like I am a third-grader with the chicken-pox. So bites turn into sores, sores into scabs. Lovely. I am such a beauty queen. This weekend my mom took one look at my feet and said, “I’m sorry. But you look like white trash.” They are starting to go away, but I fear I might have permanent scarring from this little adventure. I would take a picture but I am too embarrassed. It’s like the universe said, “How can we make Alexia even LESS attractive these days? Oh I know. Let’s make her look like she has an infectious foot disease.” Thanks, Universe.
Universe: U’r welcs!