Ketchup

…or it is catsup? What I mean is — time to catch up, har har.

  • Update on thank-you notes: slow going.
  • Update on putting away wedding presents: hasn’t happened. Living room looks like a tornado, which is why the Husband invited the entire softball team over for a BBQ next Saturday — to give me/us a deadline to clean up. You know me: deadline-driven, always.
  • Update on married life: fun! Better every day! It’s great being married to the sweetest, handsomest, sexiest man in the universe. (Stop gagging. It’s true.)

Except for this sort of funny happening: I’ve been cleaning up at the Sun offices, which have been a little neglected in the past year or so while the hard workers of the paper endeavor to put out each issue. Earlier this week, Wednesday, I knocked my head hard against the corner of the cabinet while bending over to put in new garbage bags in trash cans. Ow. Goose-egg, bruise, and finally a scab on my forehead. Nice.

I tossed and turned Thursday night, awakened by itching which turned out to be a cloud of mosquitos, or maybe just one, that had eaten my left arm and leg, whole. Raw. Itchy and bitey amd scratchy, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Finally I did, but you just never catch up, you know? After three hours of restless, mind-racing, night-staring…It wasn’t until 5 a.m. when the Husband got up that I felt the full effect of my night. I couldn’t really see out of my right eye, and I got up to look. Sure enough, a mosquito had bitten me right on the eyelid and my right eye was puffed up like a balloon. I knocked on the bathroom door and frightened my poor Husband with one scary look at me. I then went to get some ice and lay for an hour with an ice pack, and some of the swelling went down. I also took some Benadryl, but worried that I would be sleepy all day, a double-whammy from lack of sleep and the drugs. (I was.)

It slowly got better over the course of the day, but I had to go shoot some photos at an elementary school and saw some people I knew there, and also popped in to make a nail appointment, saw some people in another shop — and all of them joked with me, “How’s married life? Is he beating you already?” With the cut/bruise on my forehead and the puffed-up eye, I don’t think anyone believes me.

Nice. I told the Husband his reputation was shot already. That didn’t take long.

Fortunately, the eye went down by the afternoon — a true black eye wouldn’t have. And the forehead cut is just about gone by today. Just a pink mark. Now, if I show up with a story about falling down the stairs (again!), question me. But otherwise, please pass the bug spray and the citronella. And an ice pack.

Happy weekend, friends.

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