The mosquitoes are terrible here in the Fort, so bad that they're actually finding their way into our shack of a house; I haven't yet decided how. But I'll be sitting in my battered white chair battering away on the latest short story, or prepping for class, when suddenly one is whinging in my ear, or crouching on my forearm stinging away.
Tonight, when the kid and I were out for our walk -- even later than usual, because it was a high of 101 degrees with blazing sunlight all day -- mosquitoes bit me non-stop.
Me: (Cussing a great deal) #!@#& Mosquitoes.
The Kid: They don't bite me.
Me: Oh shut up.
The Kid: No, I'm just saying -- why do they bite you and not me?
Me: Because I am so sweet.
The Kid: --- ---
Me: I am sweet. That is why.
The Kid: Um. Yeah.
Me: Are you saying I am not --
The Kid: Sweet is just not the adjective I would exactly pick to--
Me: Oh, fine, great, your mother's a harridan, that's just a lovely thing to --
The Kid: Intelligent, sure. Focused, maybe. But sweet? Meh.
Me: Maybe they don't bite you because you're not ripe yet. Did you think of that? Kind of -- raw? And unseasoned? Could that be it?
The Kid: And you're ripe? Really, really ripe?
Me: Hey now.
The Kid: Yeah. That makes sense.
P.S. The kid just wandered by and says: "Are you going to tell them about how I ran into the door?"
So here is the other bit of the conversation we had out on our walk.
The Kid: Did I tell how how I ran into a glass door that one time?
Me: No. What?
The Kid: I thought it was open.
Me: (With sympathy): Ow.
The Kid: (Seeing that I had totally missed the point.) No. I mean I stood there and looked at it for about a minute, and decided it was open. And then I took off running and BAM!
At which point I began laughing hysterically.
The Kid: I know, right?
Me: (Still laughing)
The Kid: It really hurt my nose, too.
7 hours ago