Not sure I can live in a state known for its ticks.
Found the first Connecticut tick on the back of my head.
House hunting on hold.
Of course, given my somewhat contrarian personality, I did EXACTLY what you’re not supposed to do. I pulled the little f**ker off my neck; walked to the nearest hard surface; and ground it into compost.
And the little f**ker might be an appropriate metaphor for what has befallen the United States of America.
A small annoying pest, easily removed and destroyed, has set this formerly great country into a tailspin of fear. Am just, uh, gob-smacked still over this country's response . . . of lack thereof.
It's a tick, you floor mats.
Pull it out; toss it on the ground; and grind it into paste.
Good God. Why have we just given up.