Attack of the mosquitoes, part deux

Last night, somewhere around 4 a.m….

Me, envying how Crayton can sleep with half his body outside the covers, while mine has been tucked inside a sweaty, hot sheet cocoon and yet still gobbled up by mosquitoes: “Why don’t the moquitoes bite you?”

Him, not opening his eyes: “Did you put on your bug spray?”

Me, pathetically: “It smells.”

This reminds me of an exchange from It Happened One Night, one of my favorite old movies. Claudette Colbert plays a rich, spoiled heiress on the lam from her father; Clark Gable is a salty newspaperman in search of a story. They end up sleeping in a barn one night while running from the cops. “I’m hungry,” she huffs. “Eat a carrot,” he offers. “Noo,” she whines. That’s me. I’m the carrot-girl.

Now that the bugs have bitten me on my lower back, ankle, earlobe, and cheekbone in one night, it is time to stop whining and do something about this.

I am breaking out the Vicks Vaporub. Lola says it works.

I’ll start the new treatment after I get back from Puerto Vallarta this weekend, though. Something tells me that crawling into bed slathered in eucalyptus-and-menthol ointment would kind of put a dent in the whole “romantic weekend alone with hubby.”