The skies of Buenos Aires are filled with mosquitos.
My legs are polka dot pink and my neck has a bite on it that I've scratched so much it's swollen up into a goiter.
A local said to me, "Ah, look at poor, pink spotted you! You must have sweet, juicy skin!"
(Was he hitting on me or is this something people say about mosquitos?)
And then his friend, pointing at the plate on which had once sat 5 alfajores, said, "It's all these desserts you're eating here. You are giving off the scent of sugar!"
Yes yes I am sure there is no connection but I am going to behave tonight. No sugar for me.