It's Citrus

Last Friday night we arrived in Georgia to be instantly greeted not only by my father and step mother but also by a slew of ticks.  I walked from my car to the patio where my step-sister points to my sweater and says, "what's that?"  Yep--a tick.  Several hours later I found one burrowed into my waist.  I quickly removed it forgetting my Georgia roots and the lessons I learned about ticks--"NEVER", I was told, "take a tick off yourself.  You have to make sure you get it all, so find someone to help you."  Perhaps that was easy to follow as a tom-boy running half wild during long hot Georgia summers, but as a middle aged woman--well, I was just grossed out and wanted it off me.

Twenty four hours later we were headed to the beach--my waist kept itching, and I slightly raised my shirt to scratch, Caroline saw the flaming red welt and asked what happened.  Nonchalantly I replied, "I had a tick I took off."  My now living in Kentucky children apparently remembered their Georgia roots because they all shrieked, "You're not supposed to do that!!!!"  "Well I did." I answered, "It'll be fine."  That seemed to quiet them, and I thought to myself, "See I'm still in charge as the mother.  They still believe everything I say.  I can still calm them."

Fifteen minutes later-Christopher, "What if you get lemons?"  "Lemons?" I answered completely baffled, "We can get some at The Pig when we get there if you want."  "No--lemons disease from the tick." Christoper explained. I semi-contained my laughter and said, "Oh, you mean lymes disease--"  Christopher, "Well I knew it was some sort of citrus."