photo by vastateparksstaff (flickr)
I’m not fond of tug-o-war. To clarify, watching people is fine, but don’t get me involved. The fall semester of my senior year of college I decided to participate. It was freshmen versus everyone else. The competition is always rigged to make the newbies wear their dorky beanies for an extra week. My freshman year, they tethered golf carts to the other side and lightly tapped the gas.
Anyway, I decided to join the “fun” because it was my last year. Too bad I decided to wear flip-flops that day. Noticing my poor choice of footwear, I was at a loss. “Just take ’em off,” said the burly male student behind me. Sure, it’d help me plant my feet better. The flip-flops came off, and the tug-o-war began. We won with some mighty tugging, unremarkable. What was remarkable was the fact I didn’t feel the stinging and burning from the fire ants that covered my left foot until after the event concluded. I had stepped in their hill as I was tugging. I had at least seven bites, and my foot soon swelled to the point where I couldn’t where my left shoe properly. I still have the scars, but they’ve faded significantly. No more tug-o-war for me!
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