I wasn't so much ticked off as I was ticked on and set on fire. Literally.

Took Neil on his first trip to "The Camp".  We were looking forward to a weekend filled with boat rides, fried seafood, and all around laziness.  Instead we got rain, laziness, and a what could potentially be a case of Lyme disease.  You see my friends,  one of the huge downfalls of moving back south (aside from the smothering humidity) is that I am once again forced to actually walk my dog.  Can you believe it?  At my parent's house and anywhere else I take him that isn't equipped with the lazy dog owners best friend, the fence, I have to physically leash him up and trot him up and down the road saying, "Poop Duece!".

On one said walk this weekend, in the particularly high swamp/grass on the side of the road, that was even nastier because of all of the rain, I picked up a little hitch hiker.

A tick on my butt-thigh.  Yes, my butt-thigh.  You know the part where your butt cheek and your thigh meet?  That one.  I can only guess he hoped on because he thought I was a can of cottage cheese, too bad he was disappointed to learn it was only fat white woman.  I was standing there talking to my dad, and subconsciously knew something wasn't right, so I reached around to check it out.  My dad said, "Why are you scratching your butt?" Embarrassed I said, "No, my thigh."  And since I didn't really know why I figured I might need to check it out in the mirror.  Off I went...

Have you ever tried to look at your butt-thigh up close in the mirror, apparently it isn't that easy.  Several acrobatic moves later I determined that it was in fact a tick and that it would require surgery to get it off.  Unfortunately they only people around to help me were Duece, Neil, and my dad.  Since Duece only respond to food and Neil hasn't quite perfected his surgical skills I had to ask my dad.  Could I have waited until my mom got there?   Yes, probably I could have, but I didn't want to risk Mr. Tick getting comfortable and setting up camp for good.  I thought it would merely require steady hands and tweezers.  WRONG.  Leaning over the counter top with your butt-thigh exposed while your dad comes at you with a lighter is not a fun thing.

Me:  "Is it going to burn me?"
Dad: "It shouldn't."

Um...sounds like a plan?  I think!?

While it did get a little warm, I never actually went up in flames (thank God).  Mr. Tick hadn't even started to dine on me because he was still flat as a rock.  He was disappointed about the whole cottage cheese thing, I tell ya. After my narrow escape, I had to give myself a full tick check in the bathroom.  It was a blast, you should try it sometime!