As Fio emptied a small glass vase crammed with dying carnations, four black mosquitoes leaped up out of their natal cradle. She clamped her palm across the top of the vase, rushed to the door and tossed the water and its occupants into the unforgiving night. But one mosquito had escaped before she knew what was going on and is, no doubt, circling your faithful correspondent to zoom in for its vampiric feast.
Watch out, babe. Fio's slap is quicker than the eye.