Imagine you are an 8 year old girl. It's summer break. But what the heck, it's hard to break tradition, so you get up super early on Saturday. Saturdays are all about the butt-crack of dawn. Your going to pop on some clothes and run outside, before 6! You're changing your unders and that is how you discover that a tick has embedded its head in your crotch. It's legs are wiggling delightedly in the air. What do you do?
Obviously, you throw yourself on the ground, thrashing, wailing, kicking, screaming. That is, if you are alive, at all.
Imagine you are a mother. You are laying between your favorite sheets, entertaining wildly inappropriate fantasies of sleeping-in on a Saturday morning. Suddenly crazed shrieking smashes through your silky fog. You grumble and stumble across the "hall", croaking about how much blood you expect to see with screaming like that. When your eyes pry open enough to see the wiggling tick in your daughters crotch, what do you do?
Your body remains upright, tenses a little, and frowns. Your soul tosses itself on the floor with your daughter and thrashes and screams. You begin dialing 911, but accidentally call your husband, at work already, at the front of a 10day, 12hours per day, project in the field.
Imagine you are a father. You are at work in a field, literally, at 6 am with several large pieces of equipment drilling and testing around you. Although you are the newest guy there, you've been put in charge of the whole shebang. You are trying to not be stressed or inordinately excited. Your cell rings. You step away from the noise. It's your wife. She's says she's calling from the closet but she's screaming so loud you can't make out what else she's saying. Eventually the picture becomes clear. She needs to know how to remove a tick from your daughter's crotch. What do you do?
You yell, "OH MY GOD!!!" Recover yourself and continue, "For crying out loud, ask the interweb! And try to remain calm...er."
The mother boots up and googles, after ten minutes of the Mircrosoft theme song, of course.
The thrashing child refuses to go pee, but she really really has to. A CD of fairy tales distracts and the mother spends five blood-curdling minutes extricating the squirmy, wiggly bug. And then drowns him in rubbing alcohol and freezes him for good measure, because the interweb told her to do it.
And that, my friends, is how you tick...er...kick off a weekend.
The week's been too busy to report back until now, but I hope I'm in time to consult you for the coming weekend. Good luck creating your own tick-tastic adventures! If your not quite up for all that excitement, you should check all existing orifices of your wee ones for invaders every night before bed. Which is also just too much fun...really.