Yesterday was one of those days. You know, the kind where I watched the clock, waiting not-so-patiently for 5:00, so I could race to the door, lock up, and officially end my day of hell work. At 4:59, sharp, I flipped the sign on the door to “CLOSED,” grabbed my keys, and headed out to park the golf cart for the night. (Yes, I have a golf cart. I swear, it’s not as exciting as it seems.)
As I walked outside, I noticed that the wind was beginning to pick up. I’d looked at the radar a few hours earlier and watched the progress of the storms blowing in our direction. I took a deep breath in, and hoped for a thunderstorm. They always cheer me up.
I climbed onto the cart, put my key in the ignition, and put it in drive. Off I went, the last step in finishing my workday.
As I turned the corner, a gust of wind smacked me in the face, blowing my hair in all different directions. Suddenly, there was an itchy, tingly feeling on my left ankle. I reached down and scratched, never taking my foot off of the accelerator.
Another gust of wind, and that weird itchy feeling came back almost immediately. My first, immediate thought was, “Crap on a cracker, I bet it’s a spider.”
I pulled up to the unit door where I’d be parking the cart, put on the parking break, and glanced down at my ankle, heart pounding, expecting to see an eight-legged demon hitching a ride on my leg. Instead, I saw this:
|I tried to take a picture. Apparently, that’s as difficult at this angle
as actually hitting this spot with my razor.
Now, I’ve been shaving my legs every single day since I was 12 years old. No joke. I can’t stand the feeling of stubble, and so every morning, I dutifully lather up and shave my legs. And somehow, I’d managed to miss a spot. But it wasn’t just a small, stubbly spot that had been missed for a day or two. This was a patch of hair, each one approximately an inch long, that was blowing in the breeze like Farrah Fawcett in a wind tunnel.
Seriously. They were long enough to braid.
I was immediately concerned with my own lack of attention to detail. Clearly, I’d been haphazard in my daily shaving. I checked my other ankle, and it was smooth as a baby’s butt. So, it was just my left ankle that was proving to be a difficult place to reach with my razor.
As I walked into the office to finish my paperwork, I wondered to myself what would happen if I continued to miss that same spot over and over again. And then it hit me.
|May the fourth be with you.|
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my thought process often leads to posts here on Abby Gabs. (And yes, the idea of Photoshopping Chewbacca onto my ankle really did pop into my head. I’m not fibbing.)