So Far, So Bad

You know those mornings when you try to get out of bed and every joint feels cemented together?

Yeah? Well, welcome to my morning.

Then I hiced up one of my very long legs on to the bed to put on a sock on a foot that was at the very end of my very long leg and there upon said leg was a tick.

EWWWWW!!!

He (or she) had just attached itself to my leg like a toddler you're trying to leave at the sitter's.

So I did what any independent, strong willed female would do. I hollered for Husband.

He came with tweezers and plucked that sucker off my leg;then we doused  it (my leg,  not the tick) with rubbing alcohol and triple X antibiotic ointment. Husband then  saw to it that Mr. Tick was flushed, and I don't mean its color.

This people, all happened before I could get out of bed!

Then I'm told I've been duped! Hornswaggled! Hoodwinked! Fooled!!!

The corpse-under-the-bed-for-five-years was a spoof written by a spoof journalist for a spoof newspaper which has no disclaimer unless you go to their website.

It was unbelievably terrible because, well, it was so bad it was hard to believe. But I believed anyway.

Well, hardy, har, har.

At least I missed (barely) stepping into that giant pile of dog poop someone left on the walking trail this morning.

But Husband didn't even see it coming.

And it isn't even lunch time.