Friday night was the season opener for the football team that Greg is coaching and, since I’m possibly the best wife in the world, I dropped the kids off with my in-laws and sat in the stands for a few hours watching boys in leggings and shoulder pads knock the crap outta each other.
I also met a few kick-ass women that share in my misery because they happen to be married to some of the other coaches. Which? Really worked out in my favor since we were supposed to have a post-game BBQ with them and it was nice to know I would have somebody to talk to.
After the game, Greg drops the bomb on me that the coaches have to stay after and watch film.
“How long do you think it’s going to be?”
“Dunno. Hopefully not too long.”
I started to get a little panicky because “not too long” in football means “10x longer than what you anticipated” and I didn’t want to sit in the car until they were done watching game film but it’s a small town and McDonald’s closes at 10 and the game ended around 9 which meant that I had about an hour of “entertainment” and then I would be forced to either: 1) wait alone until the coaches were done watching film or 2) go home.
Then, Brandy (one of the wives) came to my rescue. God love her, she’s about 10 months pregnant and sweet as can be (but not too sweet, I found out later which actually made her that much more awesome). She offered to let me tag along and hang out with her and one of the other wives until the boys were done.
I might have bribed her with, “I have booze!”
She thought about it for a minute, rubbed her belly and said, “Hey, whatever it takes to get this kid out!”
I immediately fell in love.
*Even though I feel like this should be obvious, I did not share my Smirnoff with a very pregnant woman. But I did offer to smuggle some to her in the hospital in a travel coffee mug when the baby arrives.*
Eventually, I got over my agoraphobia and general social awkwardness and had a blast. The girls hung out on the deck while the kids played inside. We discovered a skunk that was hiding under the deck and we texted the boys EMERGENTLY and they responded with, “Go inside, stupid**” but we were having too much fun (read: were too drunk) so we just plugged our noses, squealed every time we smelled it again and kept on drinking.
The boys finally arrived around 11 and we stayed until just after 2am.
So basically I sat outside from 7pm-2am and didn’t even think about putting on bug spray.
I’m a complete moron.
When I went into the kids’ bedroom on Saturday afternoon after naps, Adrianna looked at my bare legs and said, “Uh-oh, momma. Owies? Yur wegs? Bug? Bite choo??” Then she proceeded to kiss all of my bites and saying, “Awwwwww!” every time she saw a new one.
I spent all day Saturday and Sunday scratching my legs (the only places that I ended up with bites. Weird, huh?), scouring the interwebz for at-home remedies, coating myself in Hydrocortizone cream, having Greg mix up a baking soda paste and smear it all over my legs, considered going to urgent care to see if they would give me steroids and I even thought about stealing one of Greg’s Xanax just so I could have a few hours of peaceful sleep.
But the best remedy?
Greg drew me a hot bubble bath, took away my phone, forced me to relax (seriously. He put a cool washcloth over my face so I couldn’t see) and then? He took a clean washcloth and scratched my legs.
God, I love that man.
Even though he forces me to watch high school football.
** I’m paraphrasing