A case for public nudity

I was doing some yardwork this weekend. (I can hear my father's heart skip a beat - yardwork? really?!) I trimmed back a weirdo leafy tree in my yard that was growing uncontrollably. It was set to overtake my concrete patio by the year 2011.

I ducked low under the branches and trimmed back at the base. I worked my way around the tree, feeling my back begin to stiffen. Something tickled my forehead underneath my baseball cap. I wiped at my face, trying to get the sweat to stop dripping.

I finished cutting, and stepped out from under the tree. Grabbing the garbage sack, I began loading it with the trimmings.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It was really close. Like, on-my-face close. I swiped my hand at it.

A large earwig plopped to the concrete at my feet and ran off.

"Be cool, be cool..." I implored myself.

A high-pitched screech emanated from down into my toes. I tore the baseball cap from my head and flung it into the grass. I pulled at my shirt, and started to rip it off.

I spied my neighbor on the back deck across a small open field.

But they're might be bugs in my shirt! But I can't take my shirt off when there's people around!

I danced around the patio, shifting weight from one foot to the other like a kindergartner who really has to pee, pulling at my shirt so as to prevent contact with my skin.

A lightbulb went off. Take the shirt off and then run inside. Compromise!

I ran into the bathroom shirt-less and checked myself for earwigs, ticks, leeches, or termites.

Thankfully I was creepy-crawly free. But seriously, if you saw your neighbor rip their shirt off in a panic and run around the yard screaming, you'd assume they had a justifiable reason for doing so, right? Right?

Oh well. Less trick-or-treaters at the "crazy person's house" means more Halloween candy for me.