My arms are still sore from kayaking earlier this week – but not from the paddle-steering. Immediately upon returning to shore, New Hampshire’s most ferocious mosquitoes swarmed out to greet us. We were harmed and unarmed (aside from the paddles) and they’ve transformed my arms, hands, legs, and ankles into ravaged regions. One of them took a bite out of my bosom.
Yesterday morning when I took my friend’s new bike out for a spin around her neighborhood, I half-fell off while trying to negotiate a high-speed turn. My spanking-new black-and-blue mark lies atop a patch of mid-leg bug bites from the previous day’s ambush. It looks like an amateur body-art project.
Last night at the Brandi Carlile/Ray LaMontagne concert on the Boston waterfront, Ray’s set was delayed as all 5,000 of us stood under a tent to wait out a thunder-and-lightning storm. Good thing I was able to dash back from the concession stand with my Heineken before the worst of it hit. When I took my last sip, as some of the rain splashing into the tent landed on my phone while I texted and the sounds of all the shrieking swelled, the skin on my left wrist started to itch again. When I looked down to go in for the scratch, I was transfixed - the bite marks on that hand had all come together to form a rash shaped like the state of New Jersey.
7 hours ago