Wait! Stop press! Forgot to tell you:
Last weekend's mosquito bite count sits at over 20. So many are on my feet I can't wear shoes as they're too itchy and swollen.* BUT THE WORST BIT:
THEY'RE ALL OVER THE BACKS OF MY THIGHS.
I wore a dress to a 60th bday party this weekend.** We sat outdoors, beside a swimming pool. I didn't think to take repellent. Perched on the edge of the seat, the dress was swirly so it fell away from the backs of my thighs. All the mosquitos in creation thought 'JACKPOT' and feasted with a VENGEANCE. Now I'm inappropriately scratching all over creation and am too embarrased to be seen naked-legged by my husband. The very husband who has kindly taken pictures while I was passed out mostly naked on the floor of our bedroom, who obviously does not give a shit about the manky state of his wife (did I not tell you about that? One of the nights I lost my phone this year. 2013 was the year I revisited being 18 only fatter and with glasses, apparently).
I have subsequently bought two new bottles of insect repellent and will be inhaling toxins for the next three weeks solid. If on my return my typing gets any worse or if I get even more parenthetical (assuming such a thing is possible!) you'll know the reason why, I intone darkly. But I won't be scratchy, at least.
* I kid you not, today I got asked by the most direct colleague: 'Are you pregnant? Is that why you're wearing sandals and have swollen feet?'
**Why yes, I have friends who are 60! Actually, it was a good friend's father's party but I felt v grown up while schmoozing the tennis club ladies.