How I Survived a Wedding in a Jungle That Tried to Eat Me Alive
Posted by
JD (aka Jason Dean)
Jul 19 '23, 12:29
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I open my eyes in the misty jungle dawn, grateful to have dozed a handful of hours. Tent Dawg continues her Darth Vader breathing, perhaps dreaming of rappelling from a helicopter or choking out a python. I sit up and listen, hearing only the guttural wail of a howler monkey declaring his territory. The other tents are still.
I start to lie back down, but a tight sensation between my legs grabs my attention.
I face away from Tent Dawg, cross-legged, and peel off my underwear to inspect. Nothing. But what is that ache? I pull my right labia aside and my field of vision snaps into a tunnel.
Behold my nightmare: a tick has bitten my vagina.
The predator is massive—the size of a pencil eraser—with a revolting blood-brown shell and mandibles that rival Jaws.
A dizzying heat rushes to my face. I feel the urge to tip headfirst into an imaginary hole. A voice from some deep place rises. We’ve trained for this, Johnson.
I grit my teeth and pull out a brand-new pair of Mr. Tweezermans—excuse me, Dr. Tweezermans—from my pack. I flip on my phone’s flashlight and assume the butterfly position.
The good part about being bit by a jungle-grade arachnid on the lady taco is that the folds of the labia make it hard for the little jerk to get traction. I spread my labia with my left hand, slit my eyes, and dive into surgery.
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