By KRISTA VANCE
Going on vacation is similar to the holiday seasons; there are no food rules. You can bypass the extra pounds by losing some weight ahead of time, but in my experience, one week in an all-inclusive resort can add an easy 10 pounds and also make your Batgirl swimsuit "shrink."
But pounds aren't always the only thing you can gain on vacation ... unfortunately.
Seven days in a jungle-theme paradise sounded heavenly, but, as it so happened, it came with extras that weren't listed in the amenities section of the brochure.
"Come here," Thomas said, flipping on the light by the bed. "Let me look at something."
"Is there a spider on me?" I turned in circles slapping my body.
"No, but it does look like something bit you."
"It's the stupid mosquitoes," I rolled my eyes. "I'm their own personal buffet. I hate 'em. They're worse than spiders. You wanna know why?" I asked, not waiting for an answer. "Cuz they usually come in multiples, and they're super competitive. Look at these," I stabbed the dots on my arms and legs. "I can't even reach some of the ones on my back."
I laid down on the orange and black chevron carpet. "Thomas, I love you," I wiggled across the floor trying to scratch the unreachable bites. "But I wish some of them would bite you instead of me."
"That's so thoughtful of you," he said.
"True love is all about sharing." I walked into the bathroom. "No! I found another one!"
"A mosquito! You know they carry diseases, right? I think I've been lucky so far, but this could be The One."
I wadded some toilet paper and stabbed at the mosquito, just barely missing it each time. "This sucker is fast. See what I did there? Sucker?"
"What the heck!" I yelled. "It bit me! It's a ninja mosquito! Listen here, mister. Your buzzes are numbered!"
"What are you using to kill it?" Thomas asked.
"Try a towel."
I grabbed a towel and waited impatiently for the mosquito to land. "Come on! I wanna go to bed!" It flew around the lights and finally settled on the wall next to the shower.
I struck. "Owww!"
"When I flicked the towel, I hit my hand on the corner of the door. I'm already bruising up. I hate you, skeeter. You must die!"
I started snapping the towel at the wall.
"Are you using the towel locker room-style?" Thomas asked.
"Yeah. You told me to."
"I did not. You were supposed to squish it with something bigger than a wad of toilet paper."
"Huh, that does make more sense," I said, searching the bathroom for the tiny vampire. "Since I always do what you tell me to do, you might want to be more specific next time."
"That is definitely not true," Thomas disagreed.
"You never listen to me."
"Um, I just did, and your towel idea didn't work, so maybe I SHOULD stop listening to you.""You're exhausting," he said.
"Hey, if I leave the bathroom light on, maybe it'll stay in there." I suggested.
"Quick question," I said, closing the bathroom door and trapping the mosquito inside.
"Why did you groan?"
"Every time you say 'Quick question,' it's always something that either makes me uncomfortable or I don't want to answer."
I ignored his snarkiness and crawled onto the bed. "Do my eyes look yellow? I think the mosquito gave me malaria."
"You don't have malaria."
"No, really, I think I do. I think that was a malaria bite cuz I feel kinda weird."
"Dude, you need to look at my eyes."
"You didn't even look."
"I looked," he said, throwing back the covers. "Get in bed."
"I can't. I'm a meal in the making," I said. "I'm totally going to have a hot flash during the night and it's going to sense my blood warming up, and who doesn't enjoy a warm dinner? I'm telling ya, young moms and pregnant women would kill for a warm dinner, and everyone knows that skeeters are always females and they're always laying eggs ... ergo ... hungry. What about my 50 trips to the bathroom? I've had three kids; my uterus is pressing on my bladder. It's gonna get me! I'm doomed!"
"When you have malaria, do things take on a yellowish tint?" I asked. "Cuz stuff looks a little yellow."
"I really think you need to Google malaria," Mr. Helpful suggested.
"I'm not going to be able to sleep," I said, slipping on my sandals. "I'm going to the buffet. I need cookies."
"Walking to the buffet at night, amidst millions of mosquitoes, sounds like a fabulous idea."
"You know what," I hit him with a pillow. "You're a real buzzkill."
"'Tis true," he smiled. "Come here and I'll scratch your back. Because that's what true love really is."
Krista Vance is a former Champaign resident. While she now calls northern Colorado home, she spent five wonderful years in Champaign and misses great friends, corn and big-sky sunsets.