It’s yard work day.
I wore thick socks and boots.
With long pants tucked into the boots.
And a toxic level of bug spray.
I still got eaten alive.
What the heck?
On one ankle, I have a three-inch welt that goes all the way around.
It’s very painful.
It feels like an ankle monitor.
But without the exciting story of an arrest.
I can’t imagine anyone at a cocktail party being even mildly interested in my early-morning weed-whacking adventures.
It almost makes me want to take up crime.
Just for the storytelling opportunities.
Stupid bugs.