The leaping ticks will spring joyously off the tree, attach themselves to your neck and then infect you with a life-sapping disease all the while they plunge their little tick pincers into your skin and suck your blood.
Oh, there’s no need to thank me. Your continued salubriousness is all the thanks I need.
Of course, you could have gotten this information from any county agricultural extension agent — they’re as thick as ticks, I’m told, at least the ones who haven’t been killed by ticks, anyway. But who really goes looking for tick information?
Community Chorus director Randy Casey looks forward to the annual Do-It-Yourself “Messiah” at the First Methodist Church when the public is invited to sing along in one of the most famous Christmas oratorios, written by G. P. Handel, and end with the familiar and joyous “Hallelujah Chorus.”… (Sheryl DeVore)
To be "perfectly honest," as they say all the time on "Judge Judy," Lyme disease probably won’t kill you all the way, because we have good drugs. It merely makes you wish with all your soul that you were dead, or in some similar unconscious condition.
If you’ve ever had a hangover after mixing Budweiser, cognac and wood grain alcohol, it’s sick like that sick.
Why have you not heard these Christmas warnings about ticks and Christmas trees before? Easy. Usually December is cold enough that ticks go into their own chilled coma, and you are safe from neck-plunging mini–vampire pincers.
But just as you were telling all your friends this week, it’s sure been really warm this December, and you talked yourself into believing you could get a hometown suntan in January and not need a trip to Bermuda to acquire it.
But then a friend countered that we will surely suffer soon for this toasty December. It’s often so cold in January here that parts of your body exposed to the cold will freeze, fall off your body and get lost in the snowdrifts.
Three words describe Jingle Bell Rock: “Raucous holiday revue,” according to the theater company that produces it.
At that revue coming to College of Lake County on Sunday, patrons might see an elf roller skating to the tune of “Here Comes Suzy Snowflake,” or a two-minute spoof on the classic movie… (Sheryl DeVore)
While your warning friends offered reminders, they did not suggest that some component of that suffering would be ticks and Lyme disease.
As my dear Aunt Lucille used to say about unfortunate surprises, "Well, there you go. God works in mysterious ways."
The tick news flash was supposed to make me feel better about the artificial Yule fir that now adorns a corner of the living room. Buying a fake Christmas tree symbolizes some creeping degeneration, as far as I was concerned; so I have fought their insidious rise of fake color, fake smells and fake celebration for decades.
Now I have been defeated by the larger needs of expedience. The war is over. I turned in my musket last week.
She said it might be more expensive than a real tree, but the needles don’t fall off and clog the vacuum cleaner. And you don’t have to buy another tree — ever. So the cost/benefit ratio is a humdinger.
And there’s also the tick menace.
Here’s the science. Adult deer ticks normally hibernate when temperatures plunge below 40 degrees, but because it’s been unseasonably toasty, they’re still active. The harbingers of Lyme disease can hitch a ride on trees — and into your living room, according to tick experts.
Mites, spiders, stink bugs and other insects hide out in trees, too. Even those in hibernation can become active again in the warmth of your home, report the nerds at "Tech Times." Experts suggest giving the tree a good shake and/or spraying it down with the garden hose and letting it dry before bringing it inside.
Are they kidding? I guess not, but the chances we’d be outside tick-bathing a Christmas tree are ludicrously low.
Still, I always felt more Christmasy for buying a real tree grown by real workers on real American farms instead of one from the Unbearable Lightness of Being Factory on the outskirts of Macau, China.
Scientists suggest that buying a real tree for Christmas confers subtle comforting psychological benefits. I guess we yearn to kill living creatures, and then adorn the deceased conifer corpse with plastic ornaments and religious symbols.
But the artificial Christmas tree looks like a permanent resident in my front window. I didn’t kill it. It was never alive.
But at least I don’t have Lyme disease.