Something bit me. I couldn't tell you exactly when it happened, but I noticed the red bump high up on my right thigh about three weeks ago. It didn't itch or fester, and after a week of checking on it, it resembled a big whitehead pimple. My most rational thoughts told me to leave it alone, and my body would work the problem out by itself.

With no dogs, cats or pets of any kind at my home, the insects make regular appearances. The cockroaches and fruit flies make their presence known in early spring, the renegade ants find their way inside by summer time, and by late summer, the spiders clean up.

My reaction to each insect is always different and subject to my mood. I used to step on cockroaches upon first sight, but after cleaning up too much icky goo, I resigned to grabbing them, walking to the door, and throwing them ten to twenty feet. They always scuttle away without a second thought. Ants are a different story. I leave the ant hills in the drive way and yard alone, assuming they have as much right to live on the land as me. Once one enters the house, their legendary journey comes to an end. I've been bitten by an ant or two in my day, and those pinchers pack a serious punch. If giant ants ever became sentient (like the old horror classic Them!), humans would be in serious trouble. As a result, the ants get a good smashing. Spiders are to be left alone unless they happen to be Black Widows or Brown Recluses. The poison-sacked eight leggers usually leave me alone, but the potential risk is too great. They get the shoe and an apology. Daddy Long Legs and the Scuttlers (there's a good name for a band) always get away unless they accidentally get in my way at the wrong time. This brings us to the one and only amendment to all of my insects rules: if I'm feeling like a wrathful god, any and all creations are subject to immediate termination.

Even with my time tested rules, an aberration does occasionally occur. Again, I don't know what sneaked under the covers and nibbled on my upper thigh, but for weeks, the resulting bump never got better and never got worse. I sought advice from an friend who had no medical training whatsoever, and he suggested that if I pop the bump like a zit, everything would be fine. It seemed like sound advice to my medically ignorant mind, and thanks to my teenage years, I'm a rather qualified zit popper.

Squish! A decent amount of white goo popped out of the bump, and I showered right afterwards. Problem solved? Uh, no. By the next day, the little bump became a serious red welt. The whitehead was gone, but the redness had spread an inch in diameter, following along the nearest veins. What had I done? The bump was a time bomb waiting to happen. Now, the disease was spreading. It was still only a minor discomfort, but it looked bad.

Just to point out, I haven't been to a doctor in years. I have no health insurance, so I try to live a balanced healthy life. I keep myself in shape with push ups and sit ups, eat from every food group without complaint, and take it easy when I overextend myself.

Now, I had visions of Requiem From A Dream where the main character lets his arm fester to the point of amputation. I thought of Peter Parker getting bit and attaining spidey senses. I started popping zinc vitamins on a daily basis and resigned to go to a doctor if the bite got three times as bad. After all, the upper thigh is only mere inches away from some serious and sensitive equipment.

The morning after I feared the worst, a remission began to occur. The redness began to fade. Whatever was in that nasty bump had proven its point and gave up. I now have a light purple blemish on my thigh, and it keeps fading every day. Things are going to be okay again until the anonymous bug returns for another taste.

Now, if I could only get this sticky web to stop shooting out of my wrist...

Chris Jungle looks to movies for advice on curing his ailments.