Some people make a habit of putting their foot in their mouth. Me on the other hand, I seem to blog my way into trouble. At this point I'm fairly certain karma reads my blog and asserts her power anytime I get a little too big for my britches.
Those that have read my blog for several years may recall the time I made a few disparaging comments about the Bulgarian female weightlifters. I questioned their femininity and then only a few weeks later I get in a cab at Vegas and out of the jillion cabs in Sin City I wind up in one driven by ... you guessed it, a Bulgarian woman. Luckily I escaped that cab ride with my life intact though there was a narrow miss with a city bus.
Later I ridiculed lady luck and truthfully and then proceeded to take a beating at the poker table while training in Norman, Oklahoma. I'm usually a solid poker player and I've won several tournaments both at Vegas and locally but after calling Lady Luck out winning hands became scarce as attractive Bulgarian weightlifters.
And Saturday I did it again. Ranting about the rain washing out my enthusiasm for Homer's Backyard Ball I got on a rant about the swine flu. I covered mad cow, bird flu, west nile from skeeters. Like an idiot I asked ... What's next, goat gonorrhea.
Before you think the worst of me let me point out Gonorrhea is the wrong goat infliction, but make no mistake, I did have problems with the ol' goat yesterday.
By goat I mean the large patch of facial hair covering my chin. And by trouble I do mean of the animal kingdom variety.
There I was at work when I felt a stinging pinch among the black chin wool. I reached up felt something and with a tug, pulled at it. Of all the things I thought might be stuck in my goatee ... an owl's nest, a chunk of steak, one of the hundred of Hot Wheels you guys sent my sons after the fire ... No where on that list did I include a tick.
But that is exactly what I found.
And my boss just happened to walk by in the moments after I removed the little blood sucking creature and crushed him between a mail sack label so I informed if that should I die of Lyme disease it would now be considered an on-the-job injury.
The conversation carried on to the breakroom where my fellow employees began to razz me and dispute my claims that the tick was indeed a postal tick. They hinted that I'd been supporting the little sucker had been there a while, that I brought him from home, or maybe from my turkey hunting last Friday.
"But I took a shower this morning," I said.
"So did the tick," the guys laughed.
"But I suds the goat every morning. I would have felt it then."
But the guys stopped listening at suds the goat every morning.
I have the feeling that phrase will be used against me for years. Kind of like the time I said I didn't like to eat alligator meat because of it's toughness. is aid the longer you chew it the bigger it seems to get in your mouth, Yeah the guys seized on that and said, "You're eating the wrong part." But i digress.
I still contend that tick was residing in the old P.O. maybe somebody mailed the sucker, but I know what I know and I felt him latch on. And after further thought, I think that tick was sent by Karma herself or maybe her evil henchman Fate since he has lots of underhanded tricks to deal with bloggers who get a little to cocky during their rants. Therefore 'l be careful about choosing my rhetorical questions from this point on.