Judging by results, anyway.
That is to say, I am covered in the most impressive lumps. I look as though I've taken a cricket ball to the forehead...and to the arms...and to the legs...and I'm not at all sure how my toes are going to fit into my sandals.
Now, I grant you I was absolutely asking for it, sleeping with NYC windows wide-open in mid-August before installing bug screens. And perhaps I should have tacked up nets - something, anything - but I thought I'd chance it until getting around to buying bug screens, and this is the result.
I should perhaps Lie Awake with a Baseball Bat tomorrow night, so that when the Beast returns I can beat it to DEATH, but I rather doubt the efficacy of such an approach, and think that perhaps blow-torching the bedroom would be more sensible. I mean, I am awake right now because of being unbearably itchy, but I rather think the Beast has retired to its lair for tonight, overblown and corpulent, to digest the couple pints of my body it's extracted.
Hey. You'd exaggerate too if you were me. It's half past four in the morning!