My husband, Big Daddy, has some land up in the wilds of Oklahoma. There's not much there in the town near it but people he's related to, a couple of people he's not, a bar, some sad-looking dogs, and deer. Lots and lots of deer.
Hubby's grandmother owned the land back in the day, and it's been passed on to him. It's a couple hundred acres of water, bramble, grass, and trees. The old homestead is still there. Due to us living in Texas and the land being in the armpit of Oklahoma, we don't make it up there as often as we should or as often as we would like. Thieves, dishonest relatives, and meth heads love the old homestead though. We often get calls that someone has broken in, and we beat feet up there to put a band-aid on the pumping artery of a house. Through the fifty gazillion break-ins, we aren't for sure what's up there anymore, what's been stolen, or what's been moved throughout the years. It's really very sad.
After one such rescue mission, Big Daddy came home dirty, dusty, and upset. He stripped off his clothes in the laundry room, I did a cursory look for ticks, and off he went to the shower to wash off the day.
After he finished his shower, we cussed and discussed the sad state of the world that thieves, relatives, and drug addicts kept taking what wasn't theirs. After coming up with several possible solutions (game cameras, public floggings, and executions), we had dinner and moved on about our life.
A couple of days later, my husband complained of chiggers. If you have never had the misfortune of coming across one of the little demons, count yourself lucky. Chiggers are tiny little bastards mites who live in tall grass. When you go walking through the grass, they hop on you, burrow under your skin, and cause a huge red bump that itches like Satan himself moved in. You can claw them until they bleed, but they still will itch, because there is SOMETHING LIVING BENEATH YOUR SKIN. Home remedies abound for the things, but none of them really work. You have to just wait out the itch for a week or so. They suck.
When Big Daddy whined talked about the chiggers over the next couple of days, I made all the appropriate "poor-poor-pitiful-you' faces and said all the right words, silently thankful that I hadn't made the trip to Oklahoma that time.
After about a week, Big Daddy was beside himself with a bite on his butt. Actually not on his butt. IN HIS BUTT CRACK.
A little bit TMI, I know.
Just stick with me; this story is totally worth it.
It wouldn't quit itching, he said. It keeps swelling up and going down, he said. Would you please look at it, he said. I hemmed and hawed and made a thousand excuses, because really... who wants to look at their hubby's butt crack???
Not this girl.
I love you, but thank you, no.
He whined and moaned and was generally hard to live with until finally I sighed the sigh of a thousand sighs and told him to go lie down on the bed.
He pulled down his pants. I took a fortifying breath and looked.
It was disgusting. Not his butt crack, the bite. It was swollen up with a funky purplish,red-colored bulls eye that had a bit of a head on it. I did what people everywhere are prone to do when faced with something like that...
I squeezed it.
Suddenly, a tiny little seed of brown, about the size of a flea , poked out of the whelp. I stopped squeezing and then it disappeared. I squeezed harder.
And saw legs.
I bounded from the bed and started screaming over and over, " OH MY GOD! YOU HAVE A TICK IN YOUR ASS. A TICK IS IN YOUR ASS. OH MY GOD! I SAW ITS LEGS. THERE'S A TICK IN YOUR ASS! OH MY GOD! I SQUEEZED AND I SAW ITS LEGS! OH MY GOD! THERE'S A TICK IN YOUR ASS!!! A. TICK. IN. YOUR. ASS!!!! TICK IN YOUR ASS!" Then I jumped up and down for a good 30 seconds, alternating between flapping my hands like a demented bird and covering my mouth with my hands.