On Friday, I hate pizza for lunch and pizza for dinner, and then was surprised when my period started that night.
I feel like this is a metaphor for life–all these not-so-subtle clues strewn out before you and you’re just skipping merrily along the path without noticing a one until, bam, there’s blood.
The older I get, the more I think that the most important story we will kids is Little Red Riding Hood. Look! Is that really your grandma in the bed? How can you believe that the wolf who walks with you means you no great harm? Did you not see how he licked his chops when he looked at you?
I had to give blood at the doctor’s last week and I don’t know what kind of bandaid the tech used, but I can’t get the sticky off. Rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, very old nail polish remover, and, in desperation, mouthwash. All no good. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve completely killed the sticky facing out, but obviously, the sticky that is attaching the stickiness is doing a great job of holding up.
One of my friends with a baby said I should try baby oil, which I don’t have at the house. And, though she had a baby, who was with us, it didn’t occur to me to ask her if she had any on her. And so I am still inadvertently conducting an experiment in how long the sticky can last.
Though how well my phone photographed my arm freckles does make me wonder if I can get a picture of one of my reverse freckles. Let me see.
Yes! apparently my ancient iPhone is perfect for taking pictures of reverse freckles!