Other than humidity, bug bites are the thing I hate most about summer. I have at least six of them on my legs at this very moment, and not only are they incredibly itchy, but they also do not complement anything shorter than floor-length jeans.
Plus, since my legs are so pale, the bug bites look like red M&M's on a vanilla-frosted cake (such as the one my mother made for me when I was 8 and had the chicken pox). This also reminds me of the summer I worked at Sonic. . .
I had been to a bonfire the night before and (of course) got ravaged by mosquitoes. When I came into work the next day, wearing the required black shorts, a fellow co-worker named Chris aptly called me "Skeeterbite." I was cursed with that wretched nickname for the rest of the summer.
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