This story isn’t about bugs although there is totally a bug component. So, if you are here because you enjoy reading about my ongoing love-hate relationship with creepy crawlies, continue on. If you are beginning to dread this column because of the aforementioned, just know that it’ll only be a sentence or two. I think. I’m not sure because I haven’t written it yet. OK, let’s just see where this goes.
The annual Duncan Day parade ran last Saturday and I live-streamed it to the Citizen’s Facebook page while sitting on the curb across from the post office on Ingram Street. I had one child sitting on each knee so the video was pretty wobbly at the beginning. It even fell over a few times. Sorry.
Eventually I got smart and like the MacGyver I am, I used my hair elastic and my daughter’s hair elastic together to fashion a device to affix the camera to a pole behind me. I’m sure it was much easier to watch the Facebook show after that. Nevermind the state of my hair.
It was easier for me too, not having to hold the camera. Plus, the kids got off my lap to collect enough freezies and suckers to keep them happy not just during the parade but to take home for another day as well.
All in all it was a great morning out, though there was one viewer on the live stream who commented that it “wasn’t much of a parade”. I so desperately wanted to politely remind them that nobody was forcing them to watch it and we didn’t need that kind of negativity bringing us down on such a festive day in our small town. But I kept my mouth shut.
Anyway, back to the beginning.
My family got set up on the parade route at 9:40 a.m. because the parade started at 10 a.m. and Momma hates to be late. It wasn’t until around 10:15 a.m. that we clued into the fact that because we were in the middle of the route, we still had some time to wait.
I didn’t mind. I don’t get to sit down much anymore. Boy would sitting down end up biting me in the behind….
I sat and watched while the kids enjoyed running up and down the blocked-off street chasing the guy wandering around blowing bubbles. They’d come back from time to time to check in, only to bolt off to the corner to see if they could see the parade on its way. They were antsy to get the show on the road.
Trying to sound motherly, I told the kids: “this is a good time to practice our patience.”
But the kids weren’t the only ones with ants in their pants. I had them too. I didn’t know it at the time but, unfortunately for me, in my case the ants were literal. I should have heeded the 15-minute parking sign on the pole right above where I mounted my camera. Apparently I was not meant to sit there too long.
Little did I know that as the parade arrived and as the lovely marching bands and classic cars and children dancing/scouting/acting/singing/karateing were filing by our spot, that an ant, or ants (or judging by my hamstrings, an entire ant colony) had climbed into my shorts and began chowing down on my meaty thighs. I must have tasted delicious because I have dozens of bites on the back of my legs. They aren’t mosquito bites. We’ve deduced that. Now, it could be a spider (or spiders) but let’s not go there, I want to sleep tonight. It could be something else, but I am equally unenthused about delving into what it could have been that opted to stop for lunch along my posterior chain but I will say this: it’s been itchy, and uncomfortable.
Don’t worry about me. I will survive. But to the person who said that it wasn’t much of a parade, please do join me next year. I promise to scout out a critter-free seat just for you.