Monday, May 31, 2004

"I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign" scabies story.

I realized that I sometimes avoid situations the way I avoided holding my daughters hand during the past weeks. She would grab hold of my hand, I would find a way to fanagle not having my hand there while at the same time not freaking her out by mentioning about The Bugs.

First, it started like an allergic reaction to soap or something, maybe some sort of enigmatic itched and caused her some distress, not to mention the skin was peeling away from between her fingers. Ew. Athlete's Finger, par chance? Too many cartwheels on the grass? Chemlawn? Eh? Dunno...

It is odd to think of Tiny Whos from Whoville actually LIVING inside the skin of someone you love, though, as we all know there are a myriad of itsy bitsy humanoid-lovin' parasites out there. Just. Well. You don't usually have to wash all of the clothing, linens and pillows in your abode to avoid terrible itching.

Crabs. In fact. What a hell of a name. Crabs. Scabies. Ick of the subcutaneous variety. Makes one think of the Ganges, or of fly ridden bellies in Bangladesh. But, it is, in fact, a phenomenon that knows no class, no gender, and certainly picks unwilling participants without their knowledge.

By the time you itch, it is too late.

Love is sorta like that, too, I guess. Funny, I don't try to avoid *that* so very much.


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