For SHAME

I have dealt with countless shameful moments in my life: homosexuality in my early years, having to face a stranger in my bed after a night of sloppy exchanges, having to apologize to friends following drunken rampages. In fact, given my penchant for all things self-loathing, I am quite ashamed of a good number of things that I probably have no business being ashamed of at all.

Well, the jury is still out on whether this is something that falls into the legitimately shameful category or not.

It all started months ago...many months ago. Corbett would wake me in the middle of the night in hysterics over these mysterious bug attacks. Since I shared the bed with him and was completely unaffected by these "attacks" I simply told him he was insane and merely finding outlets for his various frustrations and stresses. In short, he was suffering from delusional parasitosis. He was also keeping me from my precious sleep.

The phantom bug attacks continued on an infrequent basis. Sometimes he would shake me awake to show me raised welts on his arm or on his neck. I was unimpressed. The mind is a powerful thing, and I was still convinced that he was to blame for these late night outbursts and not some nocturnal hematophagous insect. He would talk at length to others about his plight, and I would consistently reduce his credibility by adding my own experience...or rather my complete LACK of experience except for the rude episodes conducted by my ONLY bed buddy.

The truth of the matter is not that I did not believe him, but rather that I feared the truth. I had read an article in the New York Times back in 2005. Now for me to remember ANYthing outside of the realm of a Pop Culture snip-it is pretty impressive, and this had obviously left an indelible impression. The article dealt with a new plague of Bed Bugs in New York City...not in Central Park on the sleeping pallets of the homeless, but rather on Park Avenue. There was a growing shame among the upper class associated with these disturbing and often debilitating infestations. I was hoping that so long as I could write off this problem as a stress driven hallucination that I would be safe from the increasingly common plight of the yuppies.

Two nights ago, my denial received a good kick in the ass as well as countless bites from head to toe. For those of you who do not know, perhaps you should fill yourselves in on the dirty details in Wikipedia but here is the short version. Bed Bugs are blood suckers. They live in and around your bed and begin their feeding about an hour or so before dawn. They are drawn to body heat and carbon dioxide - the two greatest outputs of deep sleep. They sneak up on you and inject you with their own anesthetic so that you don't immediately feel what they're up to...only later after they're gone does the itching begin. Suddenly, you are awakened to a body of itch...and they have already scurried away as fast as they can carry their little blood engorged bodies.

Two nights ago, frustrated with his own itching issues Corbett released a series of screams and curses at around 4:40 am...and for those of you who are keeping track at home, that's about an hour before dawn. I am trying to sleep through this while also trying to convince myself that my own head to toe itching is merely a pyschological suggestion...that my sleep-weakened mind is submitting, allowing his delusions to become MY delusions. After he quiets down a bit, I sneak to the next room with a magnifying glass to check over my entire body for any evidence. NOTHING! He is a fool ::scratch scratch:: So unable to return to bed just yet, I begin doing some online research on the little buggers ::scratch scratch:: About three or four paragraphs in, my heart begins to sink a little...in such a way that only a cigarette can uplift. Clad in a robe, I brace myself for the still unsunned chill of the morning. When I return all of the lights are on and Corbett is grimacing as he proudly holds in his hand evidence of his pure sanity. He has captured about 6 or 7 little bed bugs in a small jar. We go into the bedroom and notice that they are hiding all along the cracks on the walls. We don't actually have a box spring for them to hide in and our mattress is actually completely sealed from seams. Undeterred, they have setup camp in the wall next to our impervious bed.

I am crestfallen at this point, because I had read all of the necessary steps required to getting rid of these little bearers of itch-inducing madness. Every single piece of clothing must be washed. Every inch of carpet must be vacuumed. Every millimeter of the dwelling must be treated. Every bit of you will be totally ashamed and unable to share your plight with your friends. Too embarrassed to be associated with squalor. Too humiliated to be assumed disgusting. When the fact is quite simple: these animals are opportunists and if given the opportunity they will thrive. All they need is a hiding place and a warm body to suck on at night (Bear in mind that we ignore THESE traits in most of our friends). There are reports of these critters from all the way back in ancient Egyptian times. I did a Google News search...week after week there are headlines from all over the country announcing "The Return of Bedbugs - They aren't just for the plague-ridden anymore!"

We have begun the preparations for the four hour treatment that is to take place tomorrow. In the meantime, we have set up a tent and an air mattress in our bedroom to protect us from our nightly onslaught. Last night, while camping in our tent, was our first night of calm, pure sleep in months. Corbett is treating them like bacteria, warning me not to bring my tainted clothes in to the quarantined zones that have been set up. We are hoping and praying (for the first time in years) that we are successful in getting rid of them. Camping in your bedroom is fun and all, but even a 5 year old is tired of it after a night or two.

So I ask you: If I am so ashamed and embarrassed about this whole incident, then why on earth am I writing about it?! The answer is simple. I am confident that no one will be anything but supportive and this is the reason why--

We are quietly collecting these nasty creatures (who can live unfed for up to 18 months) in a jar. That's right...we're saving them for any of you bitches who might want to make fun of us or call us unhygenic. All it takes it a sprinkle from our little shame bottle to have you screaming for relief at 5am. So all I ask is for your sympathy and support...or else!