I'm not an 'outdoorsy' kind of gal. I scream when I see a spider, I like to sleep and pee inside, and I could live the rest of my life without ever laying a finger on a lawn mower.
Mr. KK – on the other hand – is the epitome of a nature-lover.
Dresser full of 'work clothes'? Check.
A garage and two sheds filled with every yard instrument known to man? Check.
The ability to walk over a dead animal carcass, pick up a bug with bare hands and move in closer to evaluate the danger of a found snake? You betcha!
So our house rule is this: I'll deal with the inside, Mr. KK deals with the outside.
This rule usually holds true until we're in dire straits, as was the case this past weekend. I was called in to help with 'the outside' to get our yard ready for our picnic next weekend.
And when your 'outside' looks like 2 acres of this, you know it's serious:
(We're running a bit behind because we lost a weekend of working around the house due to a trip to Mexico to celebrate a certain someone's birthday, so I'm finding it rather selfish to do anything besides agree to help out.)
So this weekend I bit the bullet, put on my 'work clothes' (read: the pair on jeans in my closet I wear the least) and headed out.
Saturday went something like this:
setting: me planting herbs in the yard
MOTHER-IN-LAW: "What's that on your neck? You're bleeding."
And sure enough, I was bleeding. Because I was bitten by a mystery insect who left a welt that was swelling. It probably laid eggs in my neck, or injected me with malaria.
By Saturday night, the site of the bite was swollen, and all around my neck hurt. Miraculously, I avoided death and woke up Sunday morning.
My neck now looks like this:
I'll admit, it doesn't look that bad here.
But it's BAD. And it hurts.
setting: sorting through dirt from our old planter.
ME: "This is a weird looking stick." (holding it up)
FATHER-IN-LAW: "That's because it's a bone. Probably from a rabbit."
item in question:
setting: the end of the day, after we finished up
MR. KK: "Something just bit me." (inspecting his chest) "It's a tick."
ME: "Let me get the vaseline."
And I smothered the son of a bitch. (the tick, not Mr. KK)