tick...tick...tick

My parents will soon be celebrating their 36th anniversary. They decided it was a good reason to take an extended trip away from home…which will be their first in almost 36 years.

This being said, a weekend away was a major outing for them both. But, it was decided, an outing was clearly in order. They were going to start traveling more and this would be the first of many exotic places that they would venture to. So an itinerary was formed and an exotic destination was chosen. Williamsport. Not the Bahamas. Not Italy. But Williamsport. The town which proudly claims to be the 19th century lumber capital of the world. Sadly, this is all the town can realistically brag about.

My parents started off early Thursday morning. I wasn’t expecting to hear from them again until Sunday night, which is when they were scheduled to return. To my surprise, however, I got a call from my mom later that same day.

“Well,” she told me once I had picked up the phone, “the trip is over!”

“What happened, mom? Why did you and dad leave so soon?”

“We were driving along on Route 70,” she explained, “when all of a sudden the car lost all power and started smoking! Your father pulled over to the side of the road, we called AAA, and then had to wait for over an hour for a tow truck!”

“Well,” she continued, “as you can imagine, these trucks were speeding by us going very fast, and there was barely any shoulder, so your father and I felt it was best to cross the highway, hop over the median strip, and wait on the opposite side of the road.”

“So you hopped over the median strip?” I asked, having a hard time imagining my mother running across a busy highway, leaping over the center divider, and racing to safety on the other side.

“Heavens no!” she exclaimed. “It was too high, so instead I crawled underneath it. But, later that night my head was itchy, and when I scratched it I found a tick! Can you believe it!? An actual tick! I was mortified! Obviously, it must have dropped on my head when I was crawling under the road divider.”

“Obviously,” I said.

“Don’t be coy,” she scolded. “Anyway, I got it out and your father tried to kill it…I’m not sure if you know this, but those little buggers are very hard to kill. Well, he finally crushed it and stuck it in a Ziplock bag and put it in the freezer.”

“Mom,” I asked, “why in the world did dad stick a dead tick in the freezer?”

“Because, I looked up ticks on the internet and read that they can cause Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Your dad figured that it would be a good idea to keep the tick, just in case I caught it. That way, the doctors could use the tick to develop some type of antidote for me.”

“Mom, I really don’t think it’s necessary to keep the tick.”

“It’s better safe then sorry,” she reasoned. “But I just wanted you to know that it’s in a bag next to the yogurt. I just don’t want you to accidentally eat it by mistake.”

Which, I’m sure, was very thoughtful on some level. Though I can’t imagine what food she thinks I would mistake a tick for. A midget raisin, perhaps?

“I’m just glad that you and dad are both safe,” I said. “And I’m sorry that your trip turned out to be such a disaster. Did you two reschedule it?”

“No,” she told me, “the mechanic called and told us that the car was going to end up costing about $2000, so we cancelled the reservation. The trip money has now become the repair money. But that’s okay, really. We’re both perfectly happy just to stay home.”

Because when you get right down to it, a $2000 car repair bill and a Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever scare are a small price to pay to find that you’re content staying in your own little corner of the world.