I came down with an unusual affliction right after school today. One minute I was fine, and the next minute I was beset with a bout of intense itching in the chestal/breastal area. Right at the confluence of the twin peaks. There was no moment of biting/stinging clarity.
My room was empty save for The Pony, who had disembarked his bus, harvested some snacks from the third drawer of my file cabinet, and turned his back on me in favor of rereading a book for the 197th time. I reveled in the newfound solitude by sticking my fingers through the gap between shirt-buttons and scratching to beat the band. Ahhhhh.
Then I peeped inside. I had come down with hive. Not hives. Hive. I had one giant welp in the middle of my sternum. Now, some of you may think I misspoke there, and that there's no such thing as a welp, and that what I'm really talking about is a welt. And to you, I say, "Come down here to my little slice of paradise, and my peeps will show you what a welp is all about."
I can't imagine what caused this urticaria. Did a toxin glide into the room on a cartoonish wisp of smoke and snake its way inside my shirt? Did a six-legged vermin jump off a fellow man and onto me? Did a half-hearted enemy make a juju of me, and stick a pin into that area? Don't know. Don't care. I just want it to stop itching.
I refuse to turn into my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. McCrorey, who spent half the day poking a red ink pen down her neckline, and roto-rootering it about. No student is going to be scarred for life by my inadvertent itch-relieving motions.
4 comments:
I had to chuckle over Mrs. McCrorey. Getting our bust-bolster straps back in place inconspicuously...Readjusting the crotch of our pantyhose by doing modified versions of the splits...Trying to avoid getting blamed for gaseous emissions...Teachers have it rough.
Possibly a reaction to eating too much chocolate? Or as amy mother used to say, "The meanness coming out of you."
Haha! I hate to revel in your itchiness, but...I've been the victim of mysterious maladies myself, and it's always somewhat of a relief to find out I'm not the only one with invisible creatures/ninjas/gnomes/sprites trying to cause me bodily discomfort. Although I hope the welp went away. Those things never let you enjoy the party.
Sioux,
Mrs. McCrorey was her own eraser. Sometimes she went to the blackboard to write something for emphasis, and as she moved right with her cursive, her great bosom erased what she'd written lower on the board.
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Linda,
C'mon now! We both know there's no such thing as TOO MUCH CHOCOLATE. Which appears to lend credence to the meanness coming out of me.
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Bailey,
The welp, much like the pacing-footsteps ghost in my house, appears and disappears. And for the record, my life is not so much a party as a rich tapestry of Seinfeld episode yarns.
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