Just about every Saturday, Mr. B and Mr. X, my hunka burnin' love, (that's gross, right? Tee hee!) drive the 15-20 minutes to the park that sits behind our school. There, they stomp around like maniacs and attempt (sometimes even succeed!) at beating whatever boys show up for a round or two of basketball. In the 95+ degree heat. Because they're insane. And incredibly good role models. But that's beside the point.
This Saturday, Mr. B was off baiting sharks with his own blood (true story) so he could not throw his arms up in either victory or indignation, so I thought I'd tag along. Not to play basketball, mind you (Me? Basketball? Let's take this whole 'becoming athletic' idea one thing at a time here....), but to be a picture-taking cheerleader. So, giant Nikon in hand, I skipped out to the court.
As Rey (soft spoken, always smiling, gentleman) and Jesus ( cookie-lovin', question-askin' jumping bean) plus the fearless teacher took on a couple other lads, I got myself situated in the meager shade of a palm tree. The temperature was perhaps a balmy 95, slight breeze, and some deliciously puffy clouds lounged in the air. All in all, a beautiful day. Hot, but bearable.
My shutter clicked over and over, capturing the boys' mad leaps and the ball's wicked flight... and then, I started to itch.
You know how sometimes when you get sweaty, you get itchy? Yes, I thought. That's what it was. My lower back was just kind of uncomfortable. Hmm. My butt was kind of itchy. This is weird. My upper back is now getting itchy.
I removed my eye from the camera for a second, took a look at my legs....and saw 4 giant, quarter-size welts.
And realized....
I had ants in my pants, ladies and gentlemen.
Ants.
In my pants.
The little demons bit me just about everywhere.
My mother's voice came back to haunt me from my childhood "Brittany, you've got ants in your pants. Will you calm down?" My father's voice echoed along side. "Get bit!" his voice echoed every time I was naughty. My childhood. Summed up in two phrases.
Was Nike (goddess of peaceful competition and victory) furious because I refused to play sports and instead wanted to lounge on my butt?
Or was this the Sandman's revenge for waking up earlier than I'd planned?
Is this karmic retribution for making fun of my sister for so many years (because mosquitoes LOVE her, but never bite me)?
I may never know the answer. But know this folks-- ants in the pants? Not just a cute little phrase after all. I would not recommend it to anyone.
