Day 488: Bitten & Beardless

Photo on 2015-07-12 at 10.31 PM.jpg

The internet is down again! 

It seems to leave us during the nighttime. Could it be that our province’s infrastructure is so fragile as to be affected by the mere setting of the sun?! Oh, my dear, sweet Nova Scotia, we have so much work to do.

I’m hardly going to spend much time wingeing about that however, as I have a lot more to relate to you and many, many more things to winge* about. Also, I’d hate to reiterate what I already said last night, about when I get these things posted, the internet connection being as unreliable as it is. However, I will take this as another reason to make the adjustment back to writing them earlier in the day. It’s just a better way to do it all the way around. It’s just sometimes it’s tough. Like today.  

*winge: British slang for “whine or complain” 

First of all, I went to bed with a tick on me. 

I took my clothes off before getting into bed and when I’d rolled my sock down off my ankle I felt the little bugger flat up against my skin. My reflexes kicked in before I could visually assess the situation and I yanked him off. However, I nevertheless felt that little tug as I did so which led me to conclude that he’d been attached. Full disclosure guys. I have nothing to hide. 

I’ve been penetrated!! 

Dear primininions, I quite honestly never would have believed it possible had I not witness it myself just last night. Speedy as my reflexes are and razor sharp as my external senses have proved to be in the past, I just assumed the little parasites wouldn't have a chance at getting me. And yet lo and behold last night this same unthinkable event occurred, casting an immediate death sentence on my poor, innocent beard, when I remembered making that cursed bet with Jeannette.

I told her the beard would be come off if we have a boy in September.. or if I got a tick in me. 

It didn’t phase me too much as I’m pretty sure it wasn’t on me for long; having likely been the result of mowing the lawn earlier that day. Once they’re in your socks you really can’t feel them, and they can’t move that much around your body looking for an optimum place to attach. They’re just stuck there, against your skin, with no where to go but in. Bastards.

I’ll keep an eye on the leg the next few days to see if I get the target shaped red ring indicated a possible lime disease infestation, which would have me on antibiotics lickity split, but again I don’t think he was in there long enough to cause me too much trouble. Who can say? 

As promised I then dutifully shaved my beard sometime around noon and now look like I’m 12 again. Worse yet, in keeping with the spirit of the bet, after Jeannette said that all I needed now was a bit of a hair cut, I decided to just let her go ahead and do it; nothing fancy, just to “trim up the back”. She seemed quite comfortable with the scissors in her hand as we stepped into the bathroom. It was only after she’d sliced several handfuls of hair off my scalp that she declared, “Now I know why they pull the hair out between two fingers like they do, otherwise it just slips all over the place.” 

That didn’t in-still a lot of confidence in me but by that it was far too late to do anything. 

That’s the thing about hair, once it’s off, it doesn’t go back on. Much like a broken egg. Or humpty dumpty… which is just another form of broken egg I suppose. 

Anyway, after Jeannette got done with me I now look like a 12 year old monastic student. I knew she began questioning the outcome of her own handy work when after I'd come down from my shower she said, “Hey maybe you should just go down to the barber and get it cut like you had it on Package Deal.” 

GUILT!!!!!

That’s what that is my friends!  

Guilt and a transparent attempt to cover her own tracks. 

Actually she says she likes it and can’t get over how young I now look. It’s a good thing, I suppose, to look ‘young’, though when I look in the mirror I would give anything to be able to step into a time machine and take a flame thrower to my socks about five minutes after finishing the grass yesterday. I quite liked the beard and thought I’d trimmed it up rather neatly just yesterday. But it wasn’t enough, it seems, for the fates. Perhaps Jeannette sacrificed enough animals at the altar of the tick god to have her wishes finally answered. Again, who can say?

As if that indignity wasn’t enough,
I then got up in the morning and blew out my neck/back again. 

It’s not as bad as it’s been in the past but it’s seized up on me again for sure. It might have something to do with yesterday, after I was done with the lawn… honestly mowing that lawn was the worst thing I’ve ever done!! It’s caused more trouble… I was walking down into the basement after coming in from outside when all of a sudden something bit me on the upper back, right around the neck. I reached back and slapped at what I thought was a bug, and then found one on the floor when I bent down to look afterwards. 

It looked to be a beetle of some kind, but it also looked like it could have been dead a while. Having only sorted out the basement yesterday it’s highly possible he was already laying there for a little while and that the ‘bite’ I’d felt on my back was actually internal; the muscle or a nerve pinching again. 

This is grim news. 

I didn’t feel it much last night after it happened, but when I rolled out of bed this morning, while Jeannette danced around the room in joy over the news I had a tick in me… real supportive she is… I felt it grab and that was it for my day. I iced it most of the morning, watched a horrible Dateline where a guy gets wrongfully convicted of killing his wife and two small kids, then does 13 years before they find the real killer -terrible story- and then my parents brought Blaze back over and stayed for dinner. 

My mother said if she’d known about the tick bet she would have thrown a handful of them on me while I was napping a long time ago. She hated the beard. As did most people I’m told. 

But hey, if you live your life trying to make everyone else happy, you’d lead a pretty miserable life indeed. 

I should know. I lived it for a while. 

Nite munks. 

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