Ticks and Tats
by Mary Tompsett

I see a therapist for angoraphobia. That's right, with an "n." Defined as the irrational fear of fluffy, rabbit hair sweaters.

It can be triggered by allergies, a renewal notice from PETA, or by hot weather. I mean, for crumsakes, who the hell wears angora in August?!? Further, angoraphobia can cause injury, death, or a chipped glass eye.

I've personally had some close calls while wearing rabbit hair garments. Whooooie! Catch a long ear in the door while bolting from a cab, and your day will get ugly fast.

Speaking of fluff, I saw a sign in a local restaurant: TRANS-FAT-FREE ZONE. Isn't that illegal, not to mention rude?!? Why, transvestite customers have a hard enough time accessorizing their outfits in this dismal economy without the rest of us nagging about their muffin-tops.

Now, on to serious literary discourse. Got ticks?? Of course we do, it's summer! So, here are a few hints on removing them. Fire. Hold a hot match to the tick's tush, and the rascal will back out. Theoretically. The stupid ones panic and burrow deeper, like a confused horse returning to a burning barn. But, as with controlling a horse, we…(duh!)…blindfold the tick.

Suction. Please, for your own safety, use the vacuum hose attachment! NEVER get under the wheels of an upright model, especially if you're wearing a tie or necklace. Or, heaven help you, an angora sweater with ears.

Leverage. Put the laws of physics to work for you, without pay!! Have you seen the ad for the tiny tick crowbar? Position under the tick, twirl and lift! Peachy. But now we have a loose tick puking from vertigo and stoking an attitude. What then? Experts recommend:

Asphyxiation. A smear of Vaseline works, but lately we have too many species slimed with oil. So, the gentle, Earth-friendly solution is to smother it with a Barbie pillow. Don't worry, Gramps will never notice it missing from his doll collection.

Hanging. I found many fine gallows kits available online. Careful, it's so easy to lose the tiny trapdoor hinges. The tricky part is tying the itty bitty noose wherever the hell the tick's "neck" is.

Golly, we're gonna get ticks anyway, so why not learn from the experience? The insect ID chart tattooed on my thigh is handy for discerning the subtle differences between dung beetles, ticks, and the benign but advancing proliferation of my liver spots.

A word now about tattoos to all youngish people. Your tats are awesome, AT THE MOMENT! Your body is a sacred and beautiful temple, FOR A WHILE! But, alas, with age, the temple's siding will sag and ripple.

And ladies, the firm double awnings across the front of your temples will eventually…collapse! Sure, it sucks, but it's true. I beg you, cut back now on the pizza and chocolate, or one day you'll wake up, not in a temple, but in a decrepit double-wide trailer squatting on vast plains of adipose.

Sure, the Elvis tat on your leg looks fabulous now, but in 20 or 30 years?? Defiled by moles!! And beware the heavy hand of gravity, for it will pull the Betty Boop on your bicep into a Salvador Dali version of Hitler in hot pants.

Lookee here. See these squiggly lines on my leg? The ones you thought were varicose veins? I'm tellin' you, it's a 1969 map of Woodstock!

So plan wisely for your future by selecting practical tattoos. Like, blood type. Or a luggage tag with name, address and contact for Power of Attorney.

And eyebrows!! Someday yours will fly the coop, and believe me, it's a bitch to find laundry pens in the right color.

To those who would rather look stupid than old, I declare we are a proud nation with a God-given right to do both! That's all for today, class.

Oh, by the way, if you need a tick-sized blindfold, I have extras.

Copyright © 2010 Mary Tompsett

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