i woke up this morning to find my underwear on my pillow… and not on my body.  

no, i did not have sex last night (sorry family, i said “sex” and it may be TMI but hello, how do you think jackson got here?)

and no, i was not drunk last night.  

here’s what happened… jackson woke up a little before 6 this morning, screaming.  paul rocked him back to sleep, came back to bed and then i rolled over and semi-woke up.  

Nic: “I have no underwear on.”

Paul: “Why?  Where is your underwear?”

Nic: “I don’t know.  But it’s not on me.”

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now i don’t know what you’re sleeping attire consists of, but after almost 5 years of marriage, my sleeping attire consists of a t-shirt and underwear.  once upon a time it consisted of cute, frilly, lacy shit but c’mon, let’s be honest… only on holidays folks.

and in terms of undergarments, i’m a low-rise boy-shorts underwear wearing individual.  i can remember being told by my obgyn, when i was pregnant with jackson, that i would need to pack “granny panties” for the hospital.  

“make sure they are the high-waisted ones so they don’t irritate your c-section scar,” she told me. 

are there granny panties that aren’t high-waisted?

i digress…  so last night, i go to bed in my duke university t-shirt (no i didn’t go there; i just like the basketball team) and underwear.  post-sleepy-morning-dialog mentioned above, i look under the sheets with one eye still closed.  no underwear.  

WTF?!

so i think to myself, screw it, because i really wanted to go back to sleep, and upon rolling over to do so, paul says, “there they are… on your pillow.”

at this point in time i am entirely awake, which just sucks because jackson slept til 7:30 this morning, determined to solve the mystery of how the hell my underwear went from covering my privates to lounging on my pillow.

paul falls back to sleep.

my leg starts to itch, and when i go to scratch my leg, it dawns on me.

THE BUG BITES!!!

i have 34 mosquito bites on my body right now, as a result of living in a beach bungalow for the last 7 days… and those 34 are only the ones that i can reach to scratch.  

i am a mosquito-buffet.  i don’t know why.  always have been.  i have bites on my toes, my legs, behind my knees, my inner thighs, my stomach, my bra-strap line, my arms, my back (the ones i cannot reach), my neck (at first i thought they were hickies… no no).  i even have a mosquito bite on my wrist bone.  LIKE THE ACTUAL BONE.  so when i scratch that one, it hurts, because it’s on. the. bone.  

over the last week that i have collected these itchy gifts of love from friendly insects, paul has told me not to itch them.

yeah, right.  like that’s goina happen.

“They’re goina get infected,” he tells me.

“Whatever! Then maybe they won’t itch so damn bad!” I retort.

i have itchfests in the middle of the night.  monday night i had one at 2:00 in the morning.  on the dot.  total body itchfest.  so i scratch.  i use my finger nail and mark an “X” on the raised bump (like mom taught me).  no dice.  still itching.  i put benedryl cream on the bites that i can reach (at 2 am…  ugh!) and still continue to itch.

bottom (no pun intended) line: that’s how my underwear came off last night.  i imagine i had an itchfest on my legs and in my sleep threw off my underwear.  

and no, there are no mosquito bites on my vagina, you sickos who are about to comment me with perverted crap to say.