I got roped into indulging in that great American tradition known as the cook-out this weekend, which means that I am currently covered in mosquito bites even though I was wearing so much mosquito repellent yesterday afternoon that the inside of my mouth tasted like DEET. Fortunately you can kill that particular flavor with beer.
And there were no bears, no runaway fires, no fatalities and no one tried to make me eat s’mores (I hate marshmallows), which as far as I am concerned is a win in any endeavor that involves going to a state park. I like trees, and I like swimming and going for hikes and things, but I would be lying if I said I was the outdoorsy type in any enthusiastic or committed kind of way. I always enjoy being outside when I go, but I have noticed that I am never the one who suggests it.
Have you ever listened to Mahler while trying very, very, hard not to think about the bug bites on your ankle and how much they itch? I’m doing that right now.