Once Bitten

My Dear Fellows & Dear Princess Normal,

Rewind. Back to Saturday night in Nelson, just before the big party.

CARO: I've bought these "Boat Shoes" for you.
ME: Oh. Okay.

Caro is always buying clothes for me. I've just given up on buying anything for myself. If I do make an "unsupervised purchase" I get the question, "Are you planning on wearing that?" Which is not really a question at all.

WIFELY TRANSLATION: You are not wearing that.

Caro went on to tell me that you don't have to wear socks with boat shoes. One moment, let me just consult the translator...

WIFELY TRANSLATION: If you wear socks with these boat shoes I will hit you in the willy with a croquet mallet.

So I didn't wear socks and then when we got to the party...

CARO: Whoops. I forgot to bring the bug spray.

So that was Saturday. Fast-forward to Sunday and the pair of us had been EATEN ALIVE by mozzies. I had about half a dozen bites on my hands and another half dozen on each foot. Because I wasn't wearing socks. In my boat shoes. Not that I'm bitter.

Come Monday, and my hands and feet had swollen up something chronic. I felt like I was wearing cartoon-character gloves and a pair of clown shoes. Poor Caro was suffering too, lacking sleep due to itchy feet all night. 

I went to the chemist and begged for relief. They gave me antihistamine tablets and hydrocortisone cream. Both Caro and I slathered it on but within about 30 seconds we were scratching and scratching again.

ME: It's all right. It'll settle down in a day or so.

HUSBANDLY TRANSLATION: Those effing boat shoes are going in the effing bin.

S.

p.s. Here is a lovely close-up picture of Jasper that Caro texted me. She's getting pretty artistic, I think.