I shot up an arm in acknowledgment from my bed (the couch), as old Margs went scrambling around to go pick up the Third Man from the airport; I should've gone with her to hold up a sign for Mr. Fatz, but, what can I say? I'm a jerk.
We'd mopped the floors, swept the balcony, aired out our laundry (that somehow manages to still smell like wet dog), picked up more wine, restocked the tomatoes, gotten him towels! All to remember that we three are the same louts we are back home.
Charley Fatz* arrived two days ago, and the effect has been widely felt; gone are the days of lazing about till 5pm, reading, thinking, dreaming, watching (movies) ... in two short days we've packed in four meals a day, introductions to Colombian friends, baseball games (amateur), hole-in-the-wall dining venues, swimming races (those never ceased, I suppose), and trips to the Texaco, the best gas station/bar/restaurant bonanza, the likes of which none of us have ever seen before.
And there are still two more days left with our cohort, during which we will have to trick him into thinking we're smarter and braver than we are.
After being bitten by a large, compact spider yesterday, our New Arrival simply drew a circle around the infected area of my arm, poked a dot in it, drew an "X" and said -- "Well, we'll just pour some whiskey on it."
And, so we did.
As they went out partying into the late hours, I kept thinking I was getting sick so I went home -- my arm is now nearly rubbed raw, I could've sworn it was swelling, and oof, I thought I had a fever. I might've even had brief moments of reflection; if I'm going down in the Colombian underbrush, at least I should reflect.
Smarter and braver than we think we are? Ooooonnnneee wishes.
Off to the Islands today.
(Note for Mama G: we looked up symptoms for Bad Spider Bites, and I think I'm fine. I don't feel bad, nothing that some sun and beers won't cure -- of course, I won't drink any beers, as it's Sunday, the day of the Lord, and I'd not do anything to offend. [Ahem.] You'll be happy to know we went to a Monastery yesterday ... though, I think Charley Fatz seemed a little radical when he suggested that old Margs and I were brujas who needed to be burned. But I'm FINE.)