Hello. It’s me!
Here’s the 411 … when it is 109 degrees out and my little feet can be scorched by hot surfaces, something has to give. That something, of course, is Dad driving me to grass to perform my late-afternoon duties.
So I finish browsing my Reader’s Digest and next thing you know Dad is hopping around like a mad man, scratching his ankle. The conversation goes something like this:
Dad: Ow. OW!
Dash: ‘sup dude?
Dad: They’re going into my sock.
Dad: It’s like they’ve created a highway up my leg.
Dash: By “they” do you mean mini-chupacabras?
Dad: Then they split off. Some keep going up my leg, some go down into my sock. OW! Ow. Jesus.
Dash: Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.
Dad: They’re fire ants. This burns!
Dash: I’m outta here.
Dad was being attacked by little nibblers known as fire ants. Or something like a fire ant. It makes for a better story if we take his account at face value, #amirite?
Take a peek.
I mean, who walks around with six sets of two toes?
I’d bite something if I was born like this.
Needless to say we got the heck outta there.