True Story:  You can catch ticks y’all.

When I was in the 10th grade we had this black lab. She had been hanging around our house for the last 5 years and I hadn’t paid her any attention. One day out of the blue I decide she is “My Dog”, and “My Dog” sleeps with me. I thought it was cool to have a dog that loved only me. Starved for love I was. Turned out ol’ Slick loved that her ticks jumped off of her and on to me.

I’m in class at school, a science class I think it was. We were taking a test and I was bent down over my test writing, zoned out on Ritalin probably. If you haven’ t guessed by now I have ADD and was one of the first kids of my time on speed.

 Anywho, I didn’t realize that the guy behind me had raised his hand and informed the teacher that I had something on my head. I mentioned before that I have really crappy, thin hair, right? Not too hard for him to see my scalp from that proximity.

I finally hear my name and jerk up.

Me:  Huh?

Guy behind me:  You have something on your head. I think it’s a tick.

The teacher calls me up to her desk. I been down for her.

Teacher:  Yep. It’s a tick. Go to the nurse’s office.

Can you say embarrassment? On my fast walk to the nurse’s office I think of ways to make all the kids discuss something other than my tick for the rest of the day, like maybe pull the fire alarm, or streak naked through the halls during class change. Anything would be better than them calling me tick all day.

I am determined to make Slick (an outside lake living dog) “My Dog”. So of course I let her sleep with me again that night.

Next day in the same class. This time I am slumped back in my desk, not listening, with my head back. The same guy who sits behind me raises his hand and interrupts the teacher’s lecture.

Teacher:  Yes?

Guy behind me:  Ashley has another tick.

This time I just get up and walk out of the room to the nurses office.

True Story:  I was called Tick 2, Tick Squared and the Host with the Most for some time. That bastard behind me is a doctor today, and I kicked that damn dog to the curb.

True Story:  I am not that photogenic.

My Mom hates my hair. She has tried and failed repeatedly my whole life to fix it. You can’t fix it. It is what it is. You can only try to find something nice to say about it.

She had it fixed up purdy for senior portrait day. My skin, like most teenagers, could be oily at times. I don’t love my smile, and try different ones out from time to time. Wait for it… I’m setting the scene here.

I take the picture.

A few weeks later I was at the lunch table in the cafeteria eating with my friends. For those of you that don’t remember this is where a lot of social suicide goes down… in the lunchroom.

This particular day these assholes had a table set up in the back handing out preview packages of your senior portraits. I walked over, very cooly, and gave them my name. They handed me a folder containing a photo of something resembling my face. I very quickly handed it back.

The lunch table:  Where’s your picture?

Me:  Uh, not sure. I think they forgot me.

After school that day…

Me:  Mom, we got to get new senior portrait pictures made.

Mom:   Why? I’m not paying for it. (you will see this sentence a lot from my mom). They take your picture at school for free.

Me.  Uh,uh. Trust me. I’ll pay you back.

We take outside photos. I don’t love them but they are better than the alternative. I turn them in to the teacher in charge of the yearbook. He hates me. Not sure why. I was smart, a smartass, and more than once my friend and I stumbled in after partaking in beverages we were not old enough to buy. (Don’t judge. We were all teenagers and smarter than adults). 

In my high school the yearbook isn’t available until the fall of the next school year. 

Skip to my freshmen year of college. My younger sister was a freshmen at our high school. I asked her to pick up my yearbook for me.

I get a phone call one day.

B:  I picked up your yearbook.

Me: Oh, yeah?

B:   The picture…

Me:   What picture?

B:  Your senior portrait.

My stomach drops.

B:  It looks like you have been severely burned and have down syndrome.