"CHANTAL, CHANTAL, CHANTAL!"  K screamed as he thundered up the stairs.  "Look!" he said breathlessly.  Reaching out his arm, he opened his hand proudly, fingers spreading out in slow, dramatic sequence.  And there, right there at the very edge of his palm--lay a perfectly flattened mosquito about the size of a nickel. 

Such prowess displayed in our modest household tonight. 

At the sight of the dead creature, T--having recently been traumatized by an allergic reaction to a mosquito bite which had swelled up her forearm to the size of my calf, landing her in the emergency room for half a day (though, fyi, she had a total of 39 bites at the time, so I think it was pretty fortunate that only one had been affected)--immediately started to frantically spray insect repellant around to "protect" herself.  Fascinating.  Quite honestly, I still don't understand how she hadn't passed out from the toxic fume shield she had created, especially when she appeared to be hyperventilating at the time.  To put things into further perspective, when I touched her, her clothing was actually slightly damp.  That can't be healthy.

I, on the other hand, choked on the air pollutant and used it as an excuse to lock them both out of my room :)