I just got back from a weekend visiting with my sis and her fam (and my KIDDOS! I got such sweet hugs and love). I walked in my room and spotted a bug on my bed. Ew. Whatever. I dealt with it. BUT upon further investigation by my sleuth of a roommate (and with the help of google images) we figured out it was (likely) a TICK.
A tick? Um...ok. So what did I do? I called my dad. Here is a peek into our pointless conversation.
Dad: Hi Ing. What's up? I just talked to you.
Me: I know. I need help. I found a bug. In my bed.
Dad: A bug?
Me: Yes, a bug. And Katie googled it. And it looks like it might be a tick.
Dad: A tick? Can't be. Unless...Ing, were you in the woods?
Me: Yeah Dad, I've been in the woods (Spoken with heavy SARCASM. Naturally.)
Dad: Well, I don't know. That's usually where ticks are. Ticks aren't in the city. Was it tiny?
Me: Teeny tiny. Well is it one of those things- where you see one there are 10 more? (PANIC in my voice)
Dad: I don't think so. You killed it right?
Me: Yes. But I'm puzzled. Maybe it hitched a ride into the city on a dog who was in the woods.
Dad: Oh Ing, I don't know. It's a mystery of the church.
Me: (Heavy sigh). You don't have the answers I need. Ok, I am done talking about this. If I wake up with Lyme's disease or ticks eat me alive in my sleep, tell Mason and Emme that I love them.
Dad: I don't know what you want me to tell you. Now you're just being silly. You'll be just fine. Maybe you should bleach your sheets though. That's not a bad idea actually.
You see that? That conversation had no point. I knew when I called my dad that he wouldn't have any useful or helpful information for me. And it's now documented that I may get eaten alive in my sleep by creepy little bugs.