Combat With Maggot Larva

A nozzle shot of bleach corrodes the exoskeleton of flies as effectively as insecticides, without posing harm to kitty-- the home and garden journalist I am never going to be.

The dowager was formerly able to locate Louis Dinapoli on LinkedIn, with his sharp wizened Italian face pinched like many faces beset with osteogenesis imperfecta and the romance of fracturing our skeletal engineering to get to the marrow, but not anymore. It may or may not mean he is dead, my former neighbor, colleague, classmate. He handled brittle bone disease by always pissing me off talking dirty over the phone. Louis and the dowager attended the same segregated grade school, closed long ago, and meeting him again at Liberty in the nineties was at first a surprise side benefit, but fatal confidence misplaced in Linda took care of that. I did not want to sleep with Louis. I broke his nose playing Stratego in his living room, and remorse only takes you so far when no conscious malevolence is involved in the mishap, but Louie haunted me a long time, and I started dreaming about his cast binding breaks, and the Jewish princess may have claimed she was too busy to read my conversations (sometimes overanxious due to economic desperation, which, to go against me, helped no one), but enough seeped in that she made sure he would wind up making fun of me. In confidence, I told brass bitch he would have been a useful Safe Male, as once endearingly categorized by Cybill, whose diminished appearances in public are felt, when dowager pauses to compare the Willis rocket to Shepherd's gin fizz. Louie's deliberate willingness to ostracize me in public hurt like a mother, and this was on Linda, not me, regardless of what she told him. I wanted to approach Louis about occasionally doing the social scene au pair, and instead, once Linda and I fell out, I literally took death by a thousand cuts by my peers, then indifferent abuse at the hands of Liberty's coordinators and attendants, exceedingly difficult to stand up to when in a state of shock for as long as I was, institutional disparagement. Where else would my vitriol have sprouted roots?

Though I may not know where to find him now, you all know his face, impish, wicked, something like Nabil, grey toothed, barbed, vicious.