Oh god. Not only is it fishfly season, it's going to be an exceptionally long season.
Okay, that's it. I was planning a trip back to the motherland but now? Screw it.
You really can't understand my looming horror at the thought of having to wade through those swarms. They're not kidding about blacking out the sky in that article.
It's not that these things are dangerous. They don't bite, they don't suck blood, they don't do anything ickier than landing on you and smell bad. But I'd still rather have to run through a swarm of mosquitoes than face another summer of running the gauntlets set up by the dreaded fishfly.
No, you just can't comprehend the revulsion I feel at just the mere mention of the name until you've seen storefronts turned solid...nasty grey/black fading to white as row upon row of fishflies cling to the walls in silent vigil. Doing nothing more than waiting there to die and leave a corpse that slowly withers away into a whitened husk that still clings to the damn wall. And, oh man, when they get on the floors? On the pavement? They snap and crack and give underfoot leaving a sticky, gooey paste for you to slip on. They get in your hair.
And, oh, the childhood years filled with dares and challenges to touch them, throw them, toss them in brave underage acts of daredevil courage.
Just, ugh, creepy things.