BUGS IN NEW ENGLAND

I hate bugs in New England. After living in LA for twenty years, I'm still not used to the ONSLAUGHT of insects that come out during the summer months.  It's a BUG INVASION. We are outnumbered. There's no stopping it.
It was a warm, sunny day- perfect for a hike with my dog, Gypsy. We started out behind the mill, down the dirt road that leads to the fields. The dirt road was boring, so we veered off the path and entered the woods. BIG MISTAKE. Immediately, I noticed the volcanic-like ant hills sprouting up all over the place. I remember them from last year. The holes at the top were HUGE. I pictured giant, red, angry ants spewing out of the hole like lava. Gypsy and I picked up our pace. I walked through a string of cobwebs and started flailing my arms all over the place. We kept going. I walked through another web. Then another one. I was getting pissed off. I tripped over a rock. Then a tree root.  "FUCKING SON OF A WHORE!" I was using some serious vulgarity.
I was sweating so much the bugs were sticking to my face and neck. I felt like I was being eaten alive. I told Gypsy we were going back. When I opened my mouth to say, "Come on, Girl!" an army of gnats flew in. I started spitting them out, tripping over the fucking tree roots again and again while trying to avoid stepping on the ant volcanoes. I felt like we were in Vietnam. We kept running. The flies were buzzing in my ears and trying to get up my nose. I used my hand like a windshield wiper, waving it in front of my face in a continuous motion, to ward off the insects as we ran for our lives.
At last, we emerged from the woods exhausted, wounded, and defeated. I still had bugs in my mouth. Gypsy did, too. I was grossed out for a long time. 
No more hikes in the woods with Gypsy.

I HATE BUGS IN NEW ENGLAND.