I Have a Tick in My A**.

It sucks.

The other day, I was taking my afternoon shower when something just wasn't right. I had been scrubbing my backside with the rag when I felt something tug. Usually, there are hairs that will pull a little bit, but this was something a little worse. So, I felt back there, and I knew exactly what it was. For decades (two of them), I have been plagued by ticks. I don't get them often because Menard isn't that bad about ticks, but when I get them, they're in the worst places. Believe me, finding a tick in my buttocks was not the worst place I've ever found a tick (though I'll not tell that story).

Anyway, removing it wasn't going to be easy. If it were in just the top part, it would have been like getting a shot, and I would have sought out help. It wasn't in the top part, though, and I was definitely not going to get help. Nobody was going to touch this place but me (and I would definitely rather not).

So, I went to my room, and I collected all the equipment I needed to get rid of the tick. I set up an elaborate system of mirrors, cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, a few pulleys and rope, and a single pair of tweezers. Then, I went to work.

I will leave out the details of the struggle that took place that day, but I will say that it wasn't pretty. And it was very painful, and I'm hoping that I can soon block this whole episode out of my mind. But after about twenty minutes, the first battle was over, and it was declared a draw. The tick fought valiantly and lost its life, but despite it all, he did not die in vain. I didn't get the tick's head out. If I don't get something like Lyme's disease or Rocky Mountain fever, I'm guessing I'm the winner. But for now, the fight goes on. I'll keep you informed on how it turns out.