Spring has sprung in Hillmomba. A little bird didn't tell me. My ample buttocks told me.
My butt doesn't so much have a language of its own. It communicates non-verbally, in the form of itching. Localized itching, not a wide-spread rash such as poison ivy. I don't get poison ivy. Had it once as a kid, on one forearm, and never again. Not that I'm complaining. I gladly let my sister the future ex-mayor's wife, and my mom, monopolize the pretty pink calamine lotion.
There are four distinct bites voicing their discomfort from my butt. One is in the upper butt-back border, above and to my left of the crack. Another is on the crease of the butt-thigh border, right side. The other two are technically in thigh territory, about three inches below the butt proper, on the right side.
I blame Farmer H.
Wouldn't you? Where am I going to pick up insecticritters that bite my flesh in that area? I figure Farmer H, after mowing the fields most of Sunday, sat down in his La-Z-Boy before and after cooking our Easter feast on Gassy G. So any chiggers he picked up while stirring the grasses had a chance to disembark into the comfy cushions of the La-Z-Boy. Where I sit each morning in my thin-fabric pajama pants.
Of course I relayed this scenario to Farmer H, and he DENIED having anything to do with my itching. Can you believe that? I'm sure you can.
"I don't know why you always want to blame me!"
"Where else am I going to get bitten by something like that? I never walk in the grass. Always on the sidewalk or concrete or gravel, for maybe five minutes a day, when I go to town. You mowed Sunday, and I started itching Monday."
"You could have got it from the dogs."
"Yes. In which case I'd expect to have itchy bumps on my scalp, or neck, or chest, or arms. Parts that come in contact with the dogs as I pet them or hug them on the side porch."
"See there? Even you admit it."
"No. I do not. I guess you think I pet the dogs by rubbing my butt on them!"
Farmer H had no response to that bit of logic. So I'm declaring myself the winner of this blame game.
6 comments:
1. get your own La-Z-boy and forbid Farmer H to use it (ha ha like he'd listen)
2. Vacuum the La-Z-boy before you sit in it.
3. sit anywhere else that Farmer H doesn't.
4. wear a suit of armor when sitting in the La-Z-boy.
5. spray the chair heavily with insecticide before sitting, but then give it time to dry....
River,
Such good advice! How's your Riverpedia website coming along? I think I might just ask Farmer H to look for a hazmat suit for me at the auction. Then I'd be protected all the time, which would be less effort for me than the 5-step program you have so kindly outlined.
You're one up on me, I hadn't thought of a Hazmat suit.
River,
That's okay. I'm sure your Riverpedia site can be edited as needed!
I get bites all the time, but I play in the gardens. Already had ticks right above my butt proper. I suppose I should say waist line, but …. I really like butt proper.
Kathy,
NO! It's early for ticks! Maybe you could link together some flea collars to wear as a belt, just above your butt proper.
Post a Comment