Despite the temperature dropping, albeit only slightly, sitting in the shade after a swim has become an invalid option, and I found myself, last weekend, moving at intervals, to the next chair, to stay in the warm. However, by the time I get to the last chair in the row, a variety of things start to hover around and all blemishes on my skin appear to make up the word, in insect and arachnid, 'Buffet!', and in smaller freckles, 'All you can eat!'
Insect bites are not 'indigenous' to the land that has adopted me, but they are different. After spending a night with ice packs strapped to both arms, as other methods of relief proved to be totally futile, (anti-itch cream, cortisone, baking soda, etc.,) I inspected the areas that appeared to be raised, and whilst there was only one puncture mark on my right arm, there was the tell-tale sign of 'fangs' on the other. I am quite certain that this was not caused by a 'vertebrate', as no matter how small, they are rather easy to spot!
The ant that fell from the tree the previous week did not survive the journey as far as my arms, but was stopped around the shoulder area. This was after he had received his 'money's worth', chomping on my cheek and neck. With the lack of sleep, and slight delirium that had attempted to engulf me, I resembled a creature from Bram Stoker's novel, with large red marks which looked like they had been caused by fangs of something not human!
"Did you suffer when you lived in England?" someone asked. The urge to answer with a sarcastic remark was incredibly strong, as the ripple of poison surged along my arm, causing me to wince, and then scratch furiously. I wanted to say that 'suffering was a way of life', but decided that this would not be understood. Instead, I responded that I was, indeed, considered to have 'sweet blood', in my native land, and had been the victim of many a small 'gnat'. However, I did not think there was ever a time when I was attacked by an ant that was nearly half an inch long, nor did I receive the venom of a troupe of eight legged creatures, who decided that I should be made the example of what happens to anyone who murders other members of their kind!
For most of the week, I went to bed with an 'ice pop', (a different flavour each night,) wrapped in a thin piece of materials, held in place with a hair tie, strapped to each arm. Acting like splints for the first half an hour, they finally gave way and allowed my limb to bend, before they melted and were discarded around the fourth hour past midnight!
When I am tired, or somewhat 'out of sorts', tolerance is not the first virtue out of the gate, and the sarcastic gene rears its head, and heaps scorn upon unsuspecting victims. The slightest misunderstanding becomes a giant dispute, and the language barrier becomes wider.
Whilst I am not one to use profanity as a rule, I have become aware of certain words that are not used here, and have no 'translation'. Unfortunately, my husband has been apprised of these, and when I say them, he accuses me of having a 'potty mouth'. This phrase in itself is normally enough to bring forth another 'unknown' term of abuse, and the cycle continues until I find one that has not been uttered before in his presence. I have had reason, this week, to scrape the bottom of the barrel and have been most prolific in all sorts of slang. As the itching continued to manifest, patience subsided and a whole extension of unknown expletives followed.
The week was very busy, work wise, with Samantha and I still 'covering' three jobs. I received a call from one courthouse earlier on in the week, to say that they had some papers for us to collect. One of the clerks at this particular courthouse, very kindly, set up a 'box' for us, so that our representative in that area could separate our papers from his own. I asked if the papers could be put in our box. "You what now?" This is a very odd phrase, and one to which, although I am accustomed, caused a temporary surge of irritant. "I what when?", I answered, knowing that this was probably not a good idea. However, surprisingly, it was enough to make the person on the other end of the phone more eloquent. "You want it put where?" Mistake number two, but I did not succumb to vulgarity, despite the lack of integrity I was displaying due to the pulsating bumps along my arms. I had been experiencing strange elevated trails along one arm, from the puncture wound downward. I blamed this for my immodesty! We finally understood each other and he asked my name. I gave him my first name. "What is the first letter of your second name, ma'am?" I wondered if he had perhaps received a bite to the ear, when he replied "B", after I clearly (or at least I assumed it was clear) stated, "M". There were several letters that could have been mistaken for the letter "B", but only really one that would have the same sort of sound as "M". I decided that "B" was near enough!
As the irritation subsided towards the end of the week, and I decided that sleeves would be a better deterrent than any spray sold in the supermarkets, my mood started to improve. I felt that, perhaps, a truce had been called between me and the arachnid world, and that the ants had found a new focus. At least for the moment, the 'buffet' was closed. However, I must have done something to restart the war by Friday!
"Can you have them call the guy?" was a request from one client, on Friday, as they were desperate to have their 'star' witness served with papers. "He is willing to accept the subpoena, and we need you to love on him". The term 'love on', does not really translate. It does, in my Englishwoman's mind', produce a more lurid vision than it obviously means over here! I sent my server an email. "I hesitate to say this, but they really want you to 'love on him', as he is their star witness. In my English mind, this sounds pretty disgusting, but I suppose to you, it is okay". She did not understand my objection to the term, although Dana laughed heartily when I told him what I had written. My server send me an email about half an hour later to say that she had, indeed, 'loved on him' and served the paper. My mind shut down for fear of explosion!
I did not heed my own advice on Saturday morning, and went sleeveless to South Austin. Samantha had read about an event that was taking place, at the a well known deli. In honour of their birthday, they were trying to gain entry into the Guinness Book of Records, for something or other, and she had signed us up! The temperature was not excessively hot, but my arms burned from all the scratching they had received. The event, due to start at 10, was a bit of a non-event at that time of day, and despite the publicity, no one had thought to share with the participants that no one was going to arrive until 11. We left. However, it appeared that the 'buffet' sign had reappeared, and before we had finished our shopping, I found myself scratching my shoulders.
I swam for a while and then sat in a chair. Retrieving my can of repellent from my bag, I sprayed, and sprayed. So much so, each time I took a drink from my water bottle, I could taste the rather putrid liquid that had been expelled from the nozzle. The only thing that the spray appeared to do was highlight the 'remodeled and refurbished' sign that new blemishes had spelt. Clouds had covered the sky, and whilst there was no sign of rain, the false appearance of sunset had given encouragement to a whole new range of those wishing to feast!
Dana and I went out for dinner, and without thinking, I asked if there was seating on the terrace. There was! I kept my hat on and huddled under a shawl, despite it being so mild. We returned home to watch the University of Texas football team, win in 'second overtime' against one of their nemesis. I cheered, in between scratching furiously at my shoulders.
As I sit and wonder whether I should actually risk going for a swim today, I am wondering if the message written in bites actually reads, "Welcome to Texas, y'all", as I do not think I have ever been the victim of so many different species. (The different sizes and appearance of puncture wounds would indicate that there is a variety.) I can only hope that none of them are 'endangered', as no matter the meaning, the only 'loving on them' I shall be doing will be with a sharp, fatal slap!
No doubt, this physical irritant will be short lived, and a new eatery will be sought once they get bored. "Eat onions, or jalapenos", came advice from someone. "The smell from your pores may be a natural repellent". Perhaps in Alaska, but these are Texan! It would be like offering them nectar!
With Halloween costumes on sale throughout the shops, I am now wondering if my only way forward is a disguise! I am very much hoping that my arms will not be restricted by ice splints by the time I come to write ............ another story!
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