I struggled whether to tell you, dear readers, this. It’s personal. But in the spirit of a “tell all” journal, I guess I have to keep to the rules, so here goes. I have crabs. Perhaps more technically accurate, I had crabs until about 6:30 p.m. last night.
Since returning to Germany, almost two weeks ago, I had an itch down you know where. I figured it was the heat, a rash, sensitivity to a new laundry detergent, or something like that. It’s been driving my crazy, particularly at night. I was planning to go see the doctor in DC. So last night, I arrive home in DC, Peter has invited himself over for dinner (he misses me). Before he arrives, I take a detailed look-see at my privates using one of those illuminated magnifier lamps in my workshop (any resemblance to some porn flick you’ve seen is purely coincidental).
OMG. OMFG. Did I just see something move down there? My heart is racing. I extract one of my new guests using tweezers and look at him under a jeweler’s loupe. Damn, it’s a little creature. I’m on the Internet in a flash for info, looking at the time and wondering whether my family doctor is still in. Luckily, the Internet is full of help (and glamor photos of my guests) and the cure is simple enough and only a couple of blocks away.
Peter arrives as I’m running out the door to the chemist. “I have crabs and seeking immediate medical assistance”, I say, hurrying past him to my car. He yells back, “Well I guess your little Tiger Cub hasn’t been as loyal as you think.” I quickly obtain the simple OTC medication and on the ride back home am thinking, “damn – TC has been lying to me, my pup’s got some s’plaining to do”.
I lock myself in the master bath and administer the treatment. You have to use this little nit comb to remove the eggs attached to the hair follicles. I take a magnified look at the comb. OMG. OMFG. How much shit is living down there? I decide to take a more radical approach, shears in hand, my friend and his two best buddies are swinging free and clear in just a few minutes, the bald eagle.
I call Professor Tim, who in usual fashion is unfazed with my life threatening news. “Oh that’s easy to fix, I had that in college.” Yes, you had that in college when you were a f*cking slut. I’m living a life of chastity, this ain’t supposed to happen to me. What next the clap?
Now for the big call to TC, my Tiger Cub, my pup, my f*cking no good for nuttin’ lying screwing around piece of shit soon to be ex-boyfriend. He freaks out with the news as I relay all the gory detail. He’s got to go, his parents in the room. “TC – I need the truth from you, it’s OK”, I silently fume.
An hour later, TC calls back, he’s totally upset, worse, he’s talked to his best girl friend who immediately believes I’m the one whose been whoring around. You can imagine the tone of our conversation. He’s got to go out again, he’ll call back.
In the ensuing hours, I read more on the Internet. Crabs has about a 5-7 day period from date of arrival until date of symptoms. I’m doing the math, Chris and I were in hotel rooms together in Canada during those dates and it’s possible to get this from bed linen and towels. I realize I had mentioned some weird feeling in my crotch in Niagara Falls. Suddenly, it dawns on me that neither of us may have been whoring around.
Professor Tim calls again, “you need to be nice to TC, he’s gonna freak out”. No shit. “So Chris, I know him and don’t think he’s been up to any mischief, he’s a keeper and very loyal to you, I told you that, so tell Prof. Tim the truth, what have you been doing?”. Me? Up to? It’s just great to have friends who believe you. NOTHING. I’ve been locked up in my apartment with nothing but porn.
It’s now 11 p.m., TC is at the Wal-Mart pharmacy calling me with his dad’s mobile phone. “What medication did you take?”. Chris – you don’t have crabs. “I know, but I wanna do the treatment too, I’m scared.” Oh my little tiger, you don’t have to worry, we’ve both been loyal to each other.
God the drama.