How Many Calories in a Gnat?

I'm wondering because I think I might've consumed half the Gnat Population in the State of Colorado on my bike ride today. Before you scold me for breathing through my mouth, let me just say I really do try to remember to use my nose. It's just that for, say, 30 years before I figured out that daily prescription allergy medication actually let me breathe like "normal" people I had developed this habit. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, I tell you!

I also remembered why I like to zip up my bike jersey to the very tippy-toppy zipper tooth today too. If I had done that, a small colony of the remaining Gnats of Colorado wouldn't have set up residence in that little valley on my upper front torso (you know -- between the ...cough! er, ahem, well, the ta-ta's). You would think I would remember this lesson after last summer's wasp incident.

Let me digress for a moment. Indulge me, please. As much as I like to pretend that I am a tomboy, truthfully I am a girly-girl. I used to have the honor of living with two Alaskan Malamutes. One was quite the mighty huntress. Once she dove through the snow while we were snowshoeing and came up with a live chipmunk/pika/small-moutain-squirrel thing. Another time she came in from the back yard with her very own deceased ground hog (apparently the TOY groundhog I bought her was insufficient for entertainment). Both times I instinctively let out this high-pitched shriek and both times the dog dropped what was in her mouth and looked at me like "what? you don't like what I brought you for dinner?" She was very put out with me and gave me the cold shoulder for a while each time. These aren't the only times it happened, but for some reason I remember those the best.

Back to last summer. I was mountain biking with a friend up Waterton Canyon. He was behind me on the trail as we were descending back to the start/parking lot. I saw a wasp just as it got sucked into that valley I mentioned earlier. Here's how I remember that incident:

Ohmigod! A Wasp!
Maybe it will fly out! No! Oh NO! Oh @#$#$-@*^%$!!! It's stuck in my sportsbra! WHAT IF IT STINGS ME THERE? Ewwww! Get it out!
EEE-ee-EEEEE-E-E-eeeeeeee! All while gently slamming on the brakes because I was aware I was on a gravel patch and I didn't want both a wasp sting and road rash. After a decent stop where the bike falls to the ground as I leap off and simultaneously rip my jersey off, I start tugging at my sportsbra unconcerned if anyone gets a free show. Luckily before I'm done with this little strip-tease move the wasp manages to fly out before dislodging his stinger. My virtue (if not my dignity) remains intact.

Here's how my friend remembers that incident:

You did make a rather sudden stop and ripped off your shirt like that soccer chick. But I didn't hear you scream. You seemed very calm and methodical. Like "oh, so hey, there's this little bug in my shirt." Not like "YIKES! THERE'S SOMETHING WITH A STINGER NEXT TO MY BOOBS!"

So, from this I must conclude that only dogs can hear me scream. I knew my voice was high. Remember that I have a job where I work from home? Most people ever only talk to me on the phone. There's usually a point where they figure out that I'm almost 40 and are surprised. I assume this is because I sound younger (and not because I act immature)... But I had no idea that when I revert to that primeval girly reaction it went out of human hearing range.

But wouldn't you think that after that trauma I would remember to zip up my jersey? I'm a slow learner.

And at any rate -- how do I count the gnats in my diet? I am sure they're a delicacy somewhere. Or for iguanas or frogs.