Though the top of her sleeping bag was closed so tightly that only her nose could poke through, the incessant buzzing still assaulted her. Every blink stung her smoke-offended eyes as her hips wandered from one rock to another in search of comfort.
“At least it stopped raining,” came the muffled voice of her husband.
“Yeah, just in time for the family reunion of every mosquito in North America. Real romantic, hon.” Contempt oozed from each word like marshmallow from a smore.
Something large and winged hit the tent with an angry thud and she shuddered, rubbing her stocking feet together for warmth. Hair clung to her neck, sticky from her recycled breath.
“This bag smells like gym socks and wet dog.”
Her husband paused. “Sounds kinky.”
The fierce roll of her eyes went unseen. “You’re retarded,” she said, ramming him with both feet.
He shimmied closer to her. “You know, these bags zip together. We could-”
“Not a chance,” she replied flatly. He shimmied away.
Her breath amplified in the ensuing silence as leaves rustled overhead. She watched imaginary lights dancing on her eyelids.
She’d thought Nature Boy was asleep when she heard him curse softly. “Dammit.”
“I gotta go.”
A smile tickled her mouth. “Which?”
Envisioning him crouched and exposed among the ravenous insects, she chuckled.
“Where’d you pack the TP?” he groaned.
Wicked laughter filled the tent. Maybe this dumb trip wasn’t a total loss after all.
“I thought you packed it.”