‘On the couch’ with Jasminda

DEAR Jasminda,

LAST night (when I was sound asleep) my husband woke me about the mosquitoes in the room.

He then searched (unsuccessfully) for the flyspray before trying other tactics.

By the time he’d killed them, I was wide awake and stayed that way.

What do I do to avoid this in the future,

Katie C.

Dear Katie,

There are few things more annoying than the high-pitched buzz of a mosquito hovering around your head as you wildly slap the air.

One thing that’s up there in the annoying stakes, though, is a husband waking you from your blissful dreams shouting “the mozzies are attacking me”.

Hearing about any form of attack is an unpleasant way to be roused from your sleep, but when someone can’t find the flyspray, the annoyance reaches new heights.

I can picture you, Katie, bleary-eyed, trying to get your head around whether there was an intruder in the house, only to be met with the vision and sound of your husband leaping around the bed in his undies and tossing pillows, including the one he’s ripped from under your head.

I can also see him as he progresses to the “they must be behind the bedhead” stage of the bombardment, armed now with the local library’s copy of  Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, shaking the timber frame ready to swat the enemy.

By this stage, you will be fully awake, taking in the blood smears on your Hog Bristle Quarter-Strength walls and making a mental note to update your shopping list (and possibly your will).

Remarkably, despite hubby’s energetic leaps, bounds, pillow tosses and book slaps, your bedroom now resembling a circuit class in a homeware shop, he will somehow manage to be asleep within 60 seconds of conquering all in this latest (but by no means last) mozzie-man warfare experience.

You, however, will not sleep for the next two hours.

Instead you will catastrophise about current world events including magnitude 6.3 earthquakes, microplastics found in urinary tracts, the first home buyer scheme’s impact on property prices, and other 3am issues, all to the tune of Fleetwood Mac’s Silver Springs, which is firmly lodged in your brain and refuses to budge.

And this is the stage, Katie, that you need to look across at your husband’s peaceful face, and yell, “Wake up. Wake up. There’s a mosquito on your nose. I’ll whack it with the Palermo Olive Linen cushion your mother gave us last Christmas. Hold still, my love.”

Carpe diem,
Jasminda.