Thursday, May 15, 2008

The Butt Tick Caper

The story I'm about to tell is the type of unfortunate-ness that only seems to happen to me. And it's not necessarily because of my luck. It's because I'm completely ridiculous.
After a rousing game of volleyball complete with dives, full on rolls in the sand and plenty of beers earlier tonight, I headed home and decided it would be a good idea rather than shower the sand out of ass crack right away, to sit my tired self on the couch for a bit, chat with the parents, pet the dogs, watch TV, eat dinner - and all the while unaware that a little friend had attached himself to me and followed me home.
It was well after 11 p.m. before I got into the shower - code word for "mom's completely assed out on the couch" and "dad's nowhere to be seen, so he's probably in bed." As I scrubbed the sand off, I grazed over something little and hard near my butt - Oh fuck, is that a tick? I'm extra schizo now since ticks are apparently rampant this year because the dogs, who have the expensive flea and tick preventative shit carefully applied to them each month, have been carrying the little bastards in from the backyard. Not just the tall grass or deep woods, but the fucking BACKYARD! I brushed over the spot again...OH FUCK! I frantically halfway rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, jumped out of the shower and cautiously looked in the mirror revealing my horrific fear.
There was a motherfucking tick attached to my ass. Oh eeweeweeweewohmygodohmygodfuckityfuckfuckfuck!
After pacing around trying to figure out what to do, I put on a shirt, wrapped the towel around my waist, grabbed a pair of tweezers and headed downstairs to try to wake up some assistance.
Mom = lost cause after she falls asleep. I shake her shoulder and yell "mom" eight times before she even manages to smile widely, with her eyes still closed, laugh, then mutter something along the lines of: "berga-ffff brrr haha OKOKOK."
Now really, I love my dad, but we're not really at the pull-the-tick-off-the-ass comfort level. It's inappropriate for a father to see certain parts of you after the age of 4 or 5, so waking my dad up was a last resort. Of course the fact that there was a tick on my ass made it perfectly logical.
Though it was a strange request, he just smirked (the face he makes in such situations, which reveals he is quite aware he has raised a lunatic) as I fashioned my towel into a diaper and he began the quest to end my tick neurosis - at least for tonight.
Happy that my dad was helping me, I patiently stood there wondering, is it supposed to hurt this bad to have a tick pulled off of you? After several minutes, he determined that he had been trying to rip a mole off my ass instead of a bug. So, no, it's not supposed to hurt that bad to pull a tick off. Goddammit.
He went back to bed, but convinced I was not a crazy faux tick identifier, I got a mirror and sure enough, there it was...except it was further down the butt cheek. It was in that place that is not necessarily defined as your ass, nor your crotch, nor your upper thigh. A place only your boyfriend and your Brazilian wax artist sees.
I took a deep breath, used some lingering dance flexibility to basically fling my right leg behind my head and pulled the bastard off of me with the tweezers. *phew* I walked back into the other room and dropped the still kicking tick into my dad's open hand to prove I wasn't insane.
"Yep, that's a tick," he said, examining it under the light. Crazy veterinarian, just sitting there, playing with a tick. Ew. *shudder.*
Crisis somewhat averted except for the fact that it feels like they're crawling all over me and I now have Lyme Disease and I'm going to die. Dammit.
I'm sure this will be a story told for generations - "Oh that grandma Lara, she was always getting into those type of messes - crazy 'ole broad," they'll say.

In other news not related to a tick on my ass, my first real Back Into The Wild date went quite well. A few drinks, salsa lessons, a few more beers and burgers at Westport Flea Market, a goodbye kiss and then home. Not bad, not bad. Just real and chill. You can't really ask for more than that.

1 comment:

Arby said...

Nothing says “I love you” like being willing to pull a tick from between someone’s ass cheeks. I know this from experience. It’s one of marriage’s little unexpected delights.

 

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