Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Ziploc, Tick Caught
We had a little downpour at the Mansion last evening. #1 son captured this picture. It caught my eye, and now you can enjoy it, too. Maybe I can ship him off to that town that got free cameras. Maybe I can just ship him off anywhere, with no return address. Then the Mansion would be more peaceful. I believe that #2 son would even donate his allowance money for the postage. He has grown weary of being shoved in the pantry and having the door slammed shut. And of being the perpetual target of the Nerf dart gun. I can not provide 24-hour bodyguard service. It's not my nature. He will have to fend for himself.
We have done nothing today except trap a tick. It was not on the itinerary. There I was, minding my own business talking to Mabel on the phone, and #2 son shouted, "There's a tick crawling across the floor!" I told him I didn't think there would be a tick in the house. "Yes, there is. It was in my armpit, and I grabbed it and threw it down." So I told him to grab it and throw it outside. Mabel objected. "You need to save it in a Ziploc bag in case he gets sick." So I told him to get a Ziploc bag. "A what?" Yeah. We call it a baggie around these parts. Then he didn't want to touch it with is hand, even though he had just wrenched it from the tender flesh of his armpit, so he grabbed a Kleenx, which is what we call all tissues around here, even though they are actually Puffs With Aloe. We bagged the tick, and put it on top of the fake fireplace. Which we call HH's Folly. Though not really, because HH might take offense, what with hoping for a power outage at the first cloud in the sky, so he can use the new generator he bought last winter.
After chatting with Mabel for over and hour, I made the boys some lunch and called HH. He was on his way to North St. Louis, which is a detail I would have been just as happy not knowing. I told him not to throw away the tick baggie. He said, "Save it? I've never heard of that." Which just tells you that HH is not up on his current events. Then he said, "Well, the vet saves all the ticks she takes off the dogs, but she puts them all in one big jar of alcohol, and doesn't label them for each patient." I spoke slowly to explain. "Umm...they're dogs. I imagine she does it to see what type of dieases are being carried by the ticks. But if it's your child, wouldn't you want him treated for the right disease from the beginning?" HH agreed. M-O-O-N. That spells HH understand now. Ticks bad.
I hope tomorrow proves to be as fraught with excitement as today.