ticked off
"OH DEAR GOD!!!" i screamed as i flung the soapy tick against the shower door. this wasn't the first time i had found a tick in my hair. it was the second. hoping it was a scab but knowing it wasn't, i plucked it gingerly from my shampooed head. then started the whimperings and maudlin mutterings in an unknown language that is reserved for moments when i'm too panicked to say anything intelligible.

you see, the dogs had a tick problem several weeks ago, so we medicated them. but instead of dying right away, the hell-born creatures are allowed saunter around for a bit on the dog, which is just long enough for them to get into the house and pepper the carpet with their little corpses. now i might be ok if it stopped there. but it doesn't. because the dogs' skin is poisonous, they are driven out ALIVE into my realm, finding their way onto my scalp.

before i found the first tick in my hair, i was able to hold it together in tick situations, despite my near-phobic disdain for any and all eight-legged freaks (excepting, of course, the harmless harvestman aka grandaddy-longlegs). but there's always been something worse about ticks, maybe because spiders are afraid of humans while the ticks see us as fleshy, walking burger kings. anyway, even after the first incident, i was able to keep my sister calm while i pulled a tick off of her butt (excuse me, "lower back") with my bare hands, which i later found out is a no-no. the second tick experience made me panicky, but it was what happened later that afternoon that pushed me over the edge.

i sat in the backseat of the car with the dogs after a trip to my grandparents' house. i saw a tick on biscuit's back, so i snatched it up with a kleenex. the dogs had been literally sitting on top of me, so i began getting concerned. the next tick appeared on me, and i sufficiently panicked, but i got it off. as i sat curled in the corner of the car, it didn't take long for me to reach the hysterical point. here i was, trapped between two dogs dropping ticks and the door of a moving car. there was no getting out. imagine arachnaphobia mixed with claustrophobia, and you have my panic attack. then the next dread devil appeared on my hand. the terror alert was red, let me tell you. after five more torturous minutes, i was home and on the brink of madness. after a thorough clothing search and scalp scouring, i doused myself in DEET. it was only 7%, but i hear they make 100%. like my mom says: "DEET is our friend."