Sugar and spice, and everything nice, that's what little girls are made of.
Ever heard that saying before? Of course you have. Because you too are made out of sugar and spice and everything nice.
I used to think I was made out of those things. Those were the good 'ole days. But after this weekend I found out the horrible truth...
dun dun dun
This is my new saying:
Sugar and heat, and everything mosquitoes want to eat, that's what Emily is made of.
I've known for a long time that mosquitoes love me. And not in the this-is-a-healthy-kind-of-love relationship, but more in the obsessive-I-want-to-eat-you-alive kind of relationship.
Let me set a scene for you. It's Saturday in Charleston, SC. High 70s, sun is shining, and Freddie and Emily decide to hit up the Francis Marion National Forest for some fall time hiking. Camera? Check. Comfy clothes? Check. Plethora of soda water to prevent having to drink lowly plain water (yuck)? Check. Bug spray? Not check, not check, warning warning. Warning!
There are more mosquitoes than trees in this picture. Mind blown.
We lasted exactly 2 minutes on the trails. 2 whole minutes! Where's my award?
5 seconds in and I noticed 1 mosquito on my arm. No biggie! Happens every time I step outside.
30 seconds in I noticed a village of mosquitoes taking resident on Freddie's shirt.
45 seconds in and Freddie noticed they are starting to swarm me.
1 minute in and Freddie insisted we turn around. He's swatting and batting and hitting and I'm just like Sure! Whatevs, Husband! Laugh laugh, giggle, giggle. Saturday Funday, eh eh?!
1.5 minutes in and he told me they are all over my butt and back.
2 minutes in, back in the parking lot, we ran for cover (the car), locked the doors (mosquitoes can open unlocked car doors, fyi), and got the heck outta there.
And boy, did we laugh! Because I mean, being attacked by thousands of killer mosquitoes is funny. So we laughed and laughed and yadda yaddawe were dumb.
I noticed an itch on my neck that night. Followed by an itch by my eye before going to bed.
Sunday morning? My face looked like a leper and my body looked the Michelin Man minus the rolls plus the bug bumps.
Throughout Sunday the official bug bite count went somewhere from 7 to 22. 22. Freaking. Mosquito. Bites. 5 of which were on my face. 7 of which were on my gluteus maximus. All of which were very unsightly and massively scratch worthy. Dear Freddie, please don't stop sleeping with me. Love, Your Bug Bitten, Redneck-Lookin' Wife.
Freddie's official count? 1.
One.
Uno.
Single.
Solo.
Sugar and heat, and everything mosquitoes want to eat, that's what Emily is made of.
Snaps and snails, and everything to make mosquitoes bail, that's what Freddie is made of.
And that, my friends, is the story of how I picked up every weird disease in the world. The End.
I've known for a long time that mosquitoes love me. And not in the this-is-a-healthy-kind-of-love relationship, but more in the obsessive-I-want-to-eat-you-alive kind of relationship.
Let me set a scene for you. It's Saturday in Charleston, SC. High 70s, sun is shining, and Freddie and Emily decide to hit up the Francis Marion National Forest for some fall time hiking. Camera? Check. Comfy clothes? Check. Plethora of soda water to prevent having to drink lowly plain water (yuck)? Check. Bug spray? Not check, not check, warning warning. Warning!
We lasted exactly 2 minutes on the trails. 2 whole minutes! Where's my award?
5 seconds in and I noticed 1 mosquito on my arm. No biggie! Happens every time I step outside.
30 seconds in I noticed a village of mosquitoes taking resident on Freddie's shirt.
45 seconds in and Freddie noticed they are starting to swarm me.
1 minute in and Freddie insisted we turn around. He's swatting and batting and hitting and I'm just like Sure! Whatevs, Husband! Laugh laugh, giggle, giggle. Saturday Funday, eh eh?!
1.5 minutes in and he told me they are all over my butt and back.
2 minutes in, back in the parking lot, we ran for cover (the car), locked the doors (mosquitoes can open unlocked car doors, fyi), and got the heck outta there.
And boy, did we laugh! Because I mean, being attacked by thousands of killer mosquitoes is funny. So we laughed and laughed and yadda yadda
I noticed an itch on my neck that night. Followed by an itch by my eye before going to bed.
Sunday morning? My face looked like a leper and my body looked the Michelin Man minus the rolls plus the bug bumps.
Throughout Sunday the official bug bite count went somewhere from 7 to 22. 22. Freaking. Mosquito. Bites. 5 of which were on my face. 7 of which were on my gluteus maximus. All of which were very unsightly and massively scratch worthy. Dear Freddie, please don't stop sleeping with me. Love, Your Bug Bitten, Redneck-Lookin' Wife.
Freddie's official count? 1.
One.
Uno.
Single.
Solo.
Sugar and heat, and everything mosquitoes want to eat, that's what Emily is made of.
Snaps and snails, and everything to make mosquitoes bail, that's what Freddie is made of.
And that, my friends, is the story of how I picked up every weird disease in the world. The End.
2 comments:
You poor thing!!! That has totally happened to me before too!! I once counted 18 bites alone on my legs! Yuck!!! But also? Those woods are GORGEOUS!!!!!
Oh no! What a bummer! You must be so sweet! :)
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