The mosquitoes along the North Superior Shore this summer swarmed thick as clouds -- or so it seemed as day turned to dusk. Like goggles in the face of a raging stream of sulphuric acid, the insect repellent -- it did nothing. Swat as I may, and swat as I did, the mosquitoes were relentless. One of the little buggers landed on my arm, buzzed Grace, and prepared to dine out on me. Then it met the crushing retaliation of the mighty palm of my hand. Smack! Splat!
Imagine my chagrin to learn only now that my retributive counter offensive was a disproportionate response.
What, I'm left wondering, would have been proportionate? And will I now be the target of protests, perhaps from supporters of Bzzzballah?