aka: How a Grown Woman Lost Her Mind Over a Tiny Black Bug
The day started out ordinarily enough. I was working from home, expecting a visit from the dishwasher installers later in the day so they could fix the original, shoddy, installation job. They weren’t due for another few hours so I hadn’t bothered to put on real clothes and was still in pajamas. And like any proper girl in the south, that means pants weren’t involved. *Important Detail*
So, I’m sitting on my couch, updating really boring work stuff and I look down and see a black fuzz on my thigh and go to brush it away. Much to my surprise, the black fuzz doesn’t really budge, and it turns out to not be black fuzz. I think I must have stared at it in confusion for a few seconds before I realized “Oh, that’s a tick.”
Which quickly turned into “OMG THAT’S A TICK SUCKING MY BLOOD.”
Somehow, I’ve managed to make it 25 years (almost) without ever getting a tick on me, and I had no clue what to do. So, I call Joseph, in what I think is a perfectly rational voice to see how I remove the offensive black bug.
He’s all calm and level headed, telling me to calm down, just yank it off, it’s not a big deal. Or, I can heat up a needle and poke it to get the tick to release and get him off then. It might have been at that point the tears started. You know, because I know where a needle is hanging around in my house, just waiting to be heated up for tick removal. Oh wait, no I don’t!
“Will it hurt to pull him off of me?” I asked in a quivering voice.
“Not nearly as much as you think it will, but he is biting you,” Joseph replied all calmly.
I sniffled, tears still pouring down my face, trying to be articulate even through the tears, “Okay, I’m going to pull him off.”
I grabbed a napkin so that I wouldn’t have to actually *touch* the tick and prepare myself to grab him. I look down, still steeling myself for tick removal.
“It’s gone!” I shriek into the phone. “Where did he go? Why did he leave? What if he’s still on me? OMG What if I can’t reach where he is?” I completely flip my lid. All sanity has left me at this point as I contemplate where the heck this stupid bug has gone too.
“Calm down and go see if you can find him,” Joseph replied, somehow managing to understand the crazy. “Don’t worry, you’ll be able to reach him.”
I scurry into the bathroom, snot bubbles and tears prominent as I go to investigate. I spot the stupid tick in the mirror, having migrated to my underwear. A new level of panic sets in as I contemplate how do I ensure the tick doesn’t try to escape my underwear or somehow get on me as I kick them off. During the ensuring struggle to make sure I escape the tick, I dropped the phone and can hear Joseph calling but I’m too busy.
The underwear gets kicked across the bathroom and I slowly approach it, needing to make sure the tick hasn’t escaped anywhere else. I carefully search before finding the tick. He hadn’t moved! I retrieve the phone, in a calmer voice explain that I have the tick but what do I do know?
After deciding that dealing with the tick was clearly past my comfort level, I rolled it up in the underwear and shoved it in a ziplock bag for Joseph to deal with.
Half an hour later, after taking a shower to wash the tick germs off of me and getting dressed in tick safe clothing, I called Joseph again.
“So, just so you know, I didn’t expect that I would turn into a crazy lady if I found a tick on me. That crazy was just as unexpected for me as it was for you.”
And, can you believe it, Joseph only laughed at me.