The following tale can be seen one of two ways….devastatingly humiliating or as evidence that I have really, really amazing friends.
After spending the morning at a swim meet I decided to meet my friends for a movie. Before meeting them I ducked into a bath and body works to ‘sample’ some fragrant body mist to hide the ‘outdoorsy’ odor that follows one after 4 hours in the blazing sun.
Afterward I questioned my decision as I now smelled like a overly ripe fruit that had been sitting in the sun too long. Way too long. Off to a good start.
Opening weekend of WONDER WOMAN, we, the bad ass, independent women that we are, gathered for some adult beverages and the movie.
Afterwards as we were discussing the film one of my friends made mention that I must have really liked it since I was visibly on the edge of my seat.
I scratched my hip and said,”actually I think I have a tick. It was starting to hurt,”I admitted.
Let’s pause here. Yes, this is the very thing that turns me from a strong, independent woman to a squirming, sniveling idiot. And this is the 4…count them…4th tick of the very young summer season. Think the universe is trying to toughen me up. Or kill me. I can’t decide which. Not celebrating feminism here!
This trio of brilliant, successful women were as grossed out as I was. Well, not quite as grossed out, since none of them burst into tears.
“My hip,” I said rubbing the area. For reference-we were in the common area outside of the glass fronted theater.
“Let me see,” said the nurse.
“It’s okay. I am going to Pinterest to see which essential oil they don’t like,” I said. Yes, my answer to a tick is to use Pinterest.
“For gods sake…she’s a nurse!”
I was outruled. I mumbled about this being the height of humiliation. I looked around and no one was there. I moved the waistband of my shorts down a notch. “Yep! It’s a tick!” They said. “We gotta get it out. Anyone have any tweezers?” Out of her purse one friend holds up a shiny pair of nail clippers. “Will this do?”
I must have looked mortified because my friend pointed to the back parking lot. “Not here! I am parked back there.”
So here we go…a parade of women. Only one of us was mortified.
“I think I’ve got hemostats and alcohol swabs in the car,” says the nurse. Lord have mercy this was starting to sound like major surgery.
“Really…I can take care of it,” I tried to argue. Even I knew that was stupid. No way-no how could I reach back and tug out a tick from my…ummm…well from where it was.
Halfway to the car I realized my momma was right. You should never leave home without good underwear on. I was pretty sure I had on some old, saggy, maternity granny panties that had long ago lost any sense of color. I moaned.
To add to the horror my new friend…yes lads and lasses…part of this merry little band was someone I had literally met as we were walking into the movie. Talk about an indoctrination. She’ll never look at me the same way again. Literally-she will never, ever, be able to look at me without reliving this particular, horrifying moment. She fit right into our group though because she was the one that clarified, “For the record…that’s not your hip. That’s your ass.”
I’ve been accused of having a bug up my ass on more then one occasion. I never expected to have a bug on my ass. Neverless a bug that would require assistance from another human being to remove.
Let’s recap. I stink…either from sweat or overpriced, overly scented, teen dream body spray. I have on the worlds saddest, most pitiful underwear. I am about to drop trou in front of someone I have only just met while another friend leans in close to my least attractive body part to remove a bug. In a parking lot. In broad daylight. After watching Wonder Woman.
I’ll pause while you laugh. I need a slug of wine to finish the tale of my tail anyway.
So…we are all caught up?
My friend pops the hatch on her suburua. I eye the cargo area. My nurse friend is still talking about sterile fields and my new friend has her phone out to document the moment. I refuse to get prone. Instead I plant my hands and my feet and assume the position that every drunk, redneck woman assumes on every episode of COPS.
The sun is shining. The phone is pointed at my arse. My friend is helping the clippers like a neurosurgeon going in for the first cut and I am spread eagle and semi exposed to the world. Yep, I’ve reached a new level of humiliation.
“You are going to feel some pressure….”
“Agh…don’t drop it…you have to kill it. Kill it!”
“It’s got a white dot!”
All this happened at the same moment. All while my ample end-which looked exactly like the underbelly of a bottom-dwelling-never-seen-the sun-catfish was exposed.
In the end…pun intended…the tick was out (my dignity along with it), the offensive creature was killed and we’d all had a rousing laugh.
“Welcome to the cool kids,” quipped the car owner to the new girl.
On my way home I stopped and got some skeeter spray. I am not doing this again!
And because it couldn’t get any worse I will go ahead and let you share in my horrification. And if that’s not a word it will be after this experience.