Saturday, June 3, 2017

Something Tick-ed This Way Comes

I waited a little later tonight. Just in case some of you might be having your evening meal. You know, when you dash to click on one of Val's posts, hot off the press, the instant she publishes. Sorry to my blog buddies out west. I hope your dinner hour has also passed. Because...I'm about to give you a glimpse of Hick in his tighty-whities!

Now, now...don't go throwing up your arm to shield your face. It's not a literal glimpse. Just a figurative glimpse. I prefer not to assume the mantle of responsibility for a nationwide epidemic of nausea and vomiting.

Last night, I was puttering around in the kitchen. Don't assume I was cooking Hick's supper! No siree, Bob! On Friday nights, Hick goes to the auction. He grabs something quick, so he can make sure to get there in plenty of time to claim his regular seat. He was planning to microwave himself a Walmart calzone. This one was pepperoni, I think.

Anyhoo, Hick had just gotten out of the shower. He'd spent the day outside, mowing the acreage. On a riding mower, but he still works up a powerful sweat. I think the temperature hit 88. He stopped in the afternoon to head to town for his doctor's appointment. Let the record show that he did not shower for that, but the auction is another matter.

As Hick was unwrapping his calzone at the kitchen counter, I glanced his way. Please trust me when I say that I was NOT sneaking a peek at his tighty-whitey-clad rumpus. I was mostly making sure he didn't make a mess on my counter.

I noticed that the back of Hick's left knee was glowing red. Like Rudolph's nose, only a knee. And it didn't make that buzzing noise.

"What's wrong with your leg?"

"My leg?"

"Yeah. It's all red."

"I don't know." Hick tried to turn around and look down at the back of his knee. He might as well have licked his elbow or touched his nose with his tongue. The success rate would have been the same.

"You don't have a TICK, do you?"

"A tick? I don't know. It hasn't been itching." Hick reached his hand down and felt the area. "Yep. I've got a tick."


"You're gonna hafta get it."

"NOO! I don't want to touch it!"

"Val. I can't get ahold of it. Just pull it out."

"It'll leave the head in. It'll snap off."

"Well, that's better than leaving the whole tick on me."

"You'll have to stand on that chair. I can't lean over and let the blood rush to my head."

"I don't wanna stand on no chair."

"If you want the tick off, you'll have to. Or get it off yourself. Are you AFRAID to stand on a chair?"

"No. It's just silly."

"You have to get up there where I can see it. Here. I'll get my glasses. Do you need help?"

"No, I don't need help. Here. Get out of the way."

"I'll get my glasses. EWW! That's a tick, alright!"

I tried to pull it off, but it was all dug in TICK! On the third try, it snapped loose. That little POP surely meant the head stayed inside Hick's pale reddened flesh.

"Now I have to get a Band-Aid. And triple antibiotic ointment."

"I don't need no Band-Aid. Just put the medicine on it."

"I'm not doing the Band-Aid for YOU! It's for the chair. So you don't get that triple antibiotic ointment all over the La-Z-Boy. Stay right there while I go find a Band-Aid."

Heh, heh. I wish I had thought to run out the front door and drive to town and buy some Band-Aids while Hick was standing on that kitchen chair, facing out the kitchen windows at the back of the house. Alas, Val is not that clever in her old age, her mind growing dull in retirement, without the proper exercise of outwitting high school juniors all the live-long day.

"Okay. I found this one. But it looks funny. One end is normal, and the other end is pointy."

"Oh. That's a finger Band-Aid. It was in them that I brought home from work when I cut my finger."

"Well, you're going to have a finger Band-Aid on the back of your knee. I knew we were running low on Band-Aids, but I keep forgetting to pick some up. There. That should do it. Now...if you start feeling all sick, you'd better tell your doctor that you have Lyme Disease."

"Yeah, yeah. Can I get down now? I don't want to be late for the auction."

I should have told Hick to be on the lookout for Band-Aids there. But again, I've grown dull.


  1. EWWWW!

    BTW, A+ on the Dictorian title.

    1. I LOVE titles! The ones at the top of my own blog, or the ones people bestow upon me, like DICTORIAN!

  2. Oh man I could picture the whole tick removal process Val ha ha.

    I bet he will be just fine, you are going to have to get yourself some snoopy bandaids or something like that.

    1. I have, on rare occasions, been accused of being too graphic.

      I actually had some SpongeBob BandAids from my desk at school, but they're packed in a box somewhere in my office. I thought it might be pushing my luck to expect Hick to stand on that chair in front of the kitchen window in his tighty-whities (just in case the image was fading for you) while I went downstairs to check.

  3. OW! for Hick. EWWW! for you. Aww! for your thought of leaving him standing at the window like a beacon. Seriously , watch those tick bites. Your not slowing down in your thoughts,you're mellowing like Hick. Maybe???

    1. I'd say that retirement agrees with me, and I'm getting fat and sassy...but I was already sassy, and even though I was also already fat, I am less-so these days, what with making wise choices. 111 pounds less-so, to be exact.

      I don't think "mellow" will ever be a word that describes me, though.

  4. Every night we do a tick check for each other's parts that can't be seen by ourselves. One of us usually has one or two just beginning to imbed themselves. They screw themselves in clockwise, so if you can get a good grip with tweezers, you can unscrew them.......

    1. Hey! That could be side business at my proposed handbasket factory! Tick Unscrewing! If you want to operate a mobile service, I'll give you the booth space for free.