Batman found a tick on me this weekend.
*a thousand shudders*
Yeah. I know. Ick. Ick to the thousandth degree because grrrooosss. And please don’t for a second think I’m some weird swamp lady who lives out in the Florida wilderness with the gators and mosquitos and a poor version of Florida Man. I don’t. I just have two German Shorthaired Pointers who sleep on the bed and the outdoor/active one saddles against me every night. He is the prime culprit and I blame him entirely for the violation.
But he’s adorable and I love him and can’t be mad at him.
Batman discovered the bloody stowaway while celebrating his birthday weekend in Daytona. No crazy meth heads yelling at us, but plenty of homeless wandering the nearby streets, looking for handouts. Good thing we stayed on resort avenue, which was easily walkable to everything, including the Ihop and Starlight Diner across the street. Batman and I have a thing about diners, and I’m not sure if it’s because we both love Dick Tracy or because diners are old-school and remind us of a time we never really experienced. Also, they’re used in a lot of movies, and Batman and I love movies so…yeah.
We also walked along the beach one morning and did some fun touristy things because we’re mentally children and not going to apologize. Why should we?
Also: a reminder to everyone that fainting is the opposite of sexy. No, I didn’t have another situation, but after standing in the cramped—SUPER STUFFY—Coldstone Creamery (ice-cream shop) line for about twenty minutes, I felt myself grow dizzy. It was the same dizzy that took me out of the Finding Nemo waiting line at Epcot and straight outside to vomit. I was really bummed too because I wanted my mint chocolate chip and felt I’d waited long enough to get it.
Then the dizzying spell hit and I knew—I KNEW—I had to sit down or the ground would find me first. Again, you think it’s sexy because Christ Pratt or whoever might come out of nowhere to collect your graceful body before it lands softly amongst the grass or whatever. Nope. Wrong. It’s about you versus gravity and someone’s got to win. (Sadly, Chris Pratt doesn’t show up so you’re on your own, and gravity—as you come to realize—is quite the opponent).
No, I didn’t fate. Thankfully. I made it outside to a bench quick enough to regulate my breathing and focus on calming down. Silly, weird, body. Batman let me have some of his ice-cream, so that was nice. I know he’s my husband, but sharing is food is a huge thing for him. Just reenforces he has no current plan to kill me. Sweet thing.
Lots of writerly updates but eh—we’ll take a break this week. My baby has survived another year of life, and that deserves its own post.
So, happy birthday, Batman. Thanks for all the inspiration and love.
We’ll celebrate in the castle-mansion soon.
~ L. C.