Cottage country without the cottage

I  just got home from five days in the wilderness. I have a black fly bite on the top of my head. I thought it was a tumor, but it's itchy. Then I found a similar one behind my ear and another on my leg, so I figured, what are the odds I went to the country and got three tumours? I mean, I'm not exactly Wilderness Woman, but that's crazy.

Highlight of the trip: My sister's boyfriend, Crocodile Dundee (he's Australian), telling a story about a PAWN shop at dinner. The rest of us, staring at him in alarm, thinking that he's talking about a PORN shop in front of my father. 

Second-place highlight of the trip: After my husband leaves to head back to the city for work, Crocodile Dundee breaks out his tighty blacky bathing suit - the one that makes my husband squirm - as a joke. While tanning without my glasses (leaving me near-blind) I see Croc walk past me,  the tighty shorts in my face. I almost grab his butt as a joke, then notice that he's wearing a bright orange sun hat I've never seen on this trip. I refrain from the butt-grabbing, put on my glasses and realize it's an 80-year-old man. Croc is not impressed and begins doing situps with fervour.