Monday, March 12, 2012

Nature... Dealer of Death

The one day Joan decided to get over her fear of nature hikes...
 Afternoon Readers,

     If you don't hear from me for the rest of the week, it's because I've passed on to the great gin joint in the sky. That's what happens after you get attacked. Well, not by a shark or anything...  I hear that's really hard to come back from... but I was way-laid by something much more sinister. Which is why the score is currently

Nature: 3 Paige: 0

Unless I survive, and then I get one point for living.

*point system is calculated on what I feel is appropriate and what my ring finger could hit on the number pad without overextending itself.*

     Saturday night was dark and stormy, the perfect setting for my demise, or anyone's, for that matter. But it wasn't anyone, it was me, naked and unawares, milliseconds from stepping into the shower. Yes, the powers that be had seen fit that I finally be given time to rinse out the dreadlocks that are my hair, when I happened to glance down.

All stretch marks accounted for - check
Boobs touching the floor - check
Brand new mole?- Hmmm

     I called down the stairs. "Honey? Honey, I didn't buy a new mole on Amazon, did I? Like one of those accidental click situations? I don't wanna get stuck like we did with the thousand-count John Candy watermarked post its."

     At the absence of a reply, I poked at the spot. It was solid. Assuming it was chocolate leftover from my last cake party in bed, I tried to brush it off...and brush...and brush. "Chocolate why you no brush off?" I laughed as panic set in. My hand, suddenly possessed by a survival instinct that I can only assume lay dorment for the last twenty-seven years, yanked at the spot.

     I blacked out and ended up in the kitchen, a lone towel saving the neighbor's from glancing through the window and assuming a walrus was lounging next to the cookbooks. I stared at Husband and held out a rolled-up piece of toilet paper. "I- I found a tick. On me. It was on me. On my person. I don't know how to kill it."

     "You'll survive."

     "I don't think you just heard what I said. Within the hour, I'll be dead, and you'll be left with the children."

     "Just flush it down the toilet."

     I readjusted my towel. "I think you're supposed to stake it and throw holy water on it, but I watch Discovery channel, so..."

     Husband turned back to the laptop. "Uh huh."

     After staring at the side of his head for a while, I turned to go. "You know, when Romeo thought that Juliette was dead, he killed himself."

     "Go shower."

    "If you need me, I'll be upstairs, clean and dead."

     I've spent the greater part of the last few days trying to processes how bad death by tick will be and whether contracting Lyme disease means a slow, painful death or that the new baby will be born looking like an actual lime. How does one explain birthing a piece of fruit, to one's doctor?

Please feel free to share any tick stories you've lived through....if you didn't, I appreciate you reading the blog from the afterlife.

Until Next Time, Readers!