Sometimes, it’s better not to pray (seriously…)

We’re watching television, and I get uncontrollably, unbearably itchy.

Don’t scratch! my partner says….so instead, I look at what I’m scratching…a rash. Rows of little spots up my arms and across my chest. New washing powder? my partner suggests. Hmmm. Maybe.

So we to bed. But I look at the pillows. Spotted with blood, and blood stains. Then the duvet covers. Ditto. Alarm bells ring. I get my partner to take his top off. He has spots, too. As I point them out, they start itching.

We sleep uncomfortably. The next morning, we strip the bedclothes. There’s no evidence of anything, mattress-wise. I pray. We need incontravertible evidence. We need to know what we are dealing with here, God.

We upend the bed blocks. They’re covered in a black tarpaulin-like stuff. My partner peels it back. There’s one! he says. A bed bug. I scream blue-murder. I don’t know why. Peeling back the tarpaulin reveals several more, and close inspection shows several just hanging out on top of the blocks. My partner gets the hoover. Contacts the council.

I prayed for…bed bugs…..

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