Kyle: Hey Stan. Did you see that rainbow this morning?
Stan: Yeah. It was huge.
Cartman: Eh. I hate those things.
Kyle: Nobody hates rainbows.
Stan: Yeah. What’s there to hate about rainbows?
Cartman: Well, you know. You’ll just be sitting there, minding your own business, and they’ll come marching in, and crawl up your leg, and start biting the inside of your ass, and you’ll be all like, “Hey. Get out of my ass you stupid rainbows.”
Stan: Cartman, what the hell are you talking about?
Cartman: I’m talking about rainbows. I hate those friggin’ things.
Kyle: Rainbows are those little arches of color that show up after a rainstorm.
Cartman: Oh. RainBOWS. Yeah, I like those. Those are cool.
Stan: What were you talking about?
Cartman: Huh? Oh nothing. Forget it.
Kyle: No. What marches in, crawls up your leg…
Kyle: …and starts biting the inside of your ass?
It was a beautiful day. You couldn’t ask for nicer weather on Easter Sunday. The sun was shining and there was a slight breeze. 82 degrees – that’s Fahrenheit. I tearfully said goodbye to one of the most incredibly kind women to ever be on this earth. No, it was not Mother Teresa. Truth be told, she’s not as kind as people give her credit for. Maybe one day we can discuss her and all of the other “peaceful do-gooders”. Back to my story.
We drove to my Mother-in-Law’s house for the great 2010 Easter Egg Hunt. The kids hunted for eggs, I took photos. I had gone back inside to help clean up from the lunch my Mother-in-Law made, and the mess the kids had made. God forbid anyone else get off of their ass and help with those tasks. Not that they were a big deal, but you’d think that people would have the wherewithal to help pick up after their kids and to help cleanup after eating a meal they didn’t have to pay for. Not that I’m bitter. I’m quite used to it.
I sat down on the couch to rest a little bit. That’s when I felt something very sharp poking me in a precarious place – my butt crack. I thought perhaps someone had been sewing and lost a needle in the couch. I used lose them all of the time. So, I rearranged myself and even moved over a little bit. I felt it again. This time, it was more like a stinging sensation. I instinctively put my hand in my pants. Go ahead with the jokes, I’ll wait.
Done? Good. I felt around to see if there was a thorn or something stuck in there that was poking me. I instantly felt the culprit.
“Jerry, come with me to the bathroom. Now.”
“Just come with me. I really need you to come with me right away.”
There was someone in the bathroom, and so I drug him into the formal dining room and closed the door. I dropped my pants and leaned over the table, my ass aimed at him.
“I have a tick. You need to get it out.”
“In my ass crack.”
He chuckled and had a look and sure enough, there it was. “This might hurt a little,” he said. The last person who said that to me about anything even remotely near my butt was my OB, right before he shoved a finger up my ass to check on my innards.
I giggled at first with the thought of Jerry reaching toward my butt with his thumb and forefinger in the pinching position. What would that look like to an outsider? When he pulled the tick out, that little fucker hurt like a bitch. I actually squealed like a stuck pig.
When we got home he said he wanted to be sure it got a good cleaning with peroxide. Personally, I think he just wanted to see my ass again.
As I was standing in the bathroom with my pants around my ankles, he said, “bend over.” I was hesitant, but I figured he wanted to keep all of his junk in tact, so he wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. It was then that he tried to wedge a hunk of toilet paper into my butt crack. I know you’re wondering why, and I’m going to tell you. He wanted to pour the peroxide down my butt crack to really clean the area. The tissue was to catch the extra so it wouldn’t drip on the floor.
I was laughing so hard because every time he tried to get the tp in there, it tickled. I laughed even harder when he poured the peroxide on it and it ran down my crack. Can you believe he actually yelled at me? “Stop giggling. I don’t like the way this looks.” I instantly stopped laughing because I didn’t know if he was talking about the tick area or my ass. Not that it mattered because I can’t seemingly do anything about either.
The first time I ever got a tick. It was on the outside of my vag, in that crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. Jerry was out-of-town and I didn’t know how to get a tick out. Not knowing where the tick was, he suggested I call his Dad or our friend Jason. I pulled that bitch out myself. Apparently, my naughty bits are prime property for ticks to have a snack.
In telling the tick story to my co-worker, she says, “I hope you don’t wind up with Lyme Disease. Then, you’ll have a target right on your ass.” Great. Just what I need.
I am thankful today that I am not this guy who posted on Yahoo Answers:
“How can I remove a tick from my rectum without it hurting too badly? It’s all in the question. I think details would probably make some people puke. I have a tick my rectum and it’s attached to the hole itself. I am in the mountains of North Carolina on my laptop and I am about 2 days away from being back to civilization. I am hiking alone too, so no help from anyone here for at least 2 days. Any ideas?”