Late Bloomer

I may have mentioned before that here in Dominica I get bitten by a lot of mosquitoes.

"Would you say I have a plethora of mosquito bites?"
"Yes, Jefe, I would say you have a plethora of mosquito bites."

Smiles all around.

Except that no one smiles, because mosquito bites suck.

I often complain (in a very sweet and endearing manner, of course) that it isn't fair that Wonderman never gets bitten. Every once in a while he shows me a bite that itches for a few hours and tries to say that I'm not alone. I never buy it. My suffering is always worse. It's a given. Or so I thought. On Christmas Eve, we went to the beach for a bonfire with friends. It was delightful. Especially since as an added bonus, the waves were about 75 times bigger than normal, so it was excitingly violent as the sea crashed on the shore. I only wish I had pictures. The only downside to the trip to the beach was the horrible little bugs that looked suprisingly like mosquitoes, but seemed immune to the bug repellant I had, with great foresight, applied to my feet and legs. On coming home, I began to pity myself, as I had lumpy red itchiness all over my little (relatively speaking) feet. I even continued the pitying of me for a couple days. Somehow it either took a while to develop, or I am such a lame wife that somehow I didn't notice this on my lover's legs:
I'd like to think that they took a few days to develop, because it makes me look less lame. Either way, I've tried to curb my complaints. Poor Wonderman. The itching even woke him up in the night.

Conclusion: Bonfires on the beach are awesome, but full coverage may be necessary to combat the evils that accompany dusk.