So I got bitten by the skeeters last night. Quite a bit, actually. By bedtime, the bites on my hands and arms had calmed down. By morning, I couldn't tell that they had ever happened.
Not so with my ankles, however. I posted a picture on FB of my poor cankle, red as a first degree sunburn and itching like fury. I got lots of advice: dryer sheets (don't have any); hand sanitizer (have some, somewhere); and spit.
Spit? Well I knew it worked for blood. Old quilter's trick: your spit has the power to unlock your own bloodstains, and I've found through experience that it will even work on dried blood. It's useless on anybody else's blood. Note: it even works on menstrual blood, if you've been surprised while wearing your favorite pair of skivvies. You might get dehydrated while working up enough spit, but spit spit spit, rub the spit into the bloodstain(s), then rinse in cold water and launder immediately.
I am here to tell you that spit has another magical property, because I tried it, and it worked. Took me a couple of minutes to make enough spit to go around both ankles (right one wasn't as bad as the left), but the itching has stopped. It's been more than an hour, and zip zilch nada. Of course, my ankles probably smell faintly of gingerbread, as I had just finished eating some triple ginger cookies.
I know, I know, TMI.
Middlest, clever child, has created an avatar for one of the many computer games now in residence. It resembles me as closely as pixels will allow. My weapon is a giant paintbrush, and I have some fairly impressive moves, and my secret power is "boundless intelligence" or something like unto that. Middlest was in the middle of a battle when I wrote that and couldn't look it up for me, but has since verified.
I took a short video, but my phone is tucked in for the night, which is what I hope to be shortly.
We had the monthly checkup with Middlest's doctor this morning, decided to move the appointments to Thursdays, because fasting for bloodwork + hanging out in my lobby till I get off work + Knit Night + getting home late is a bit much to ask of my kid, who recently had a two week migraine and is not sleeping well at all. We decided to bag Knit Night. I took Middlest home, went to work and dragged most of the day but still managed to get the necessary stuff done. I came straight home and made smoothies for dinner and folded the whites and am Done.
But thankfully, no longer itchy. I was trying to figure out how to rig a tent over my legs so nothing would touch my ankles while I slept.
I'm working on the ankles of the first heathered beige doll sock for Hope. Theoretically, I would like to finish the ankle and maybe the sock this evening, but I'm knackered, so my intelligence and I are gong to bound to the boudoir and collapse, after carefully removing the knitting needles from my bed.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!