MAY 6, 2021 – I know most people are disgusted by ticks. I too wish ticks weren’t part of nature, though I know they’re part of the “grand tapestry” of life on earth.
But . . . a little past midnight one night, a wood tick caused uncontrollable laughter.
When our kids were very young, our departures from the Red Cabin—and “tick haven”—for the nearly three-hour drive home were always quite late. The idea was to put the boys in their PJs and let them fall asleep for the ride. Upon pulling into our city driveway, we’d simply unbuckle the boys and haul them up to bed. Then my wife and I would unload the car, and feeling quite wiped out from the weekend, we’d put ourselves to bed to catch some sleep before the sun rose on another busy week.
On one such occasion, as I was beginning to drift into dreamland, I felt a slight itch on a secluded corner of my posterior. I furtively slid hand, wrist, then arm down to the affected region to investigate the source of the disturbance. Sure enough: a tenacious tick had attached itself inconveniently to . . . the backside of the moon.
I slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the bathroom. My idea was to deploy light and a hand mirror to get a better view of the tick—and remove it.
The damn bugger had other ideas. The mirror image was confusing and made for awkward pulling and tugging. After five minutes of silent swear words, I went for help.
Reluctantly, I awoke my wife. As she emerged from grogginess, I said, “I have a tick that I can’t pull off.”
“You’re kidding me,” she said, slurring her words.
“I’m not,” I said. “I think I need your help.”
“Huh? Can’t you just pull it off yourself?” Her words sounded mechanical, as if spoken by a wind-up doll in need of another wind-up.
“No, I tried, but I can’t.”
“Where is it?” the wind-up voice sputtered.
“On the far side of my butt.”
“Your butt?” Her elevated tone suggested I was now getting somewhere.
“Yeah. I need you to get the tweezers and . . .”
“Okay,” she said, now fully awake, as she swung the covers away with a fanning sweep. “But this really takes the cake.” That would soon prove to be . . . an understatement.
A half-minute later, I was leaning on my elbows on the bed in the guest room, with the far side of the moon shining in the light. With tweezers in hand, my wife got down on her knees for a close-up.
“I see it,” she informed me. “It’s definitely got a piece of your butt.”
With this, we both burst out laughing, but the best was not yet behind us. Seconds later, our oldest son had woken up and found his way to the commotion. From the doorway he announced his presence.
“What are you two doing!” he said.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just have a bug up my butt.”
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
