Luck of the Polish, Part 1

I came home last weekend after being out of town and was looking forward to a couple days of nearly epic laziness. That's when I found a small red spot on my skin just above the sock line on my right leg. The spot was itching, so I did what any idiot would do: I scratched the hell out of it.

Soon the little red spot had a few friends on my right leg and then he had a few friends on my left leg. They must really have been enjoying themselves, too, because they were all puffed up and burning and itching like nothing I have ever experienced. It was the kind of itch that makes you want to scratch until your fingernails come off.

I discussed the situation with my mother on the telephone. She said, "It sounds like you have poison ivy. Please don't scratch it until your fingernails come off."
"What about double-amputation?" I said with a quavering voice.
"Go to the pharmacy."

I told the pharmacist of my situation. She gave me a look that sent a subtle message. "The rest of the people in your life may not think you're an idiot," said the look, "but I know." She guided me to a shelf of pink plastic bottles.

I was skeptical. I had seen that pink plastic bottle before. I had seen it in every medicine cabinet I'd ever snooped around in while going to the bathroom at a party. It was always three-quarters full and wearing a label that placed its manufacture date somewhere in the mid- 70's. This pink plastic bottle didn't seem to be helping the general public. I looked at the pharmacist. Her body language said, "This is your only option... idiot."

I bought the pink plastic bottle and some cotton swabs and started home. I should say that I sprinted home. The little burning, itching red spots on my leg had given me this wonderful new urgency with which to conduct my life: I longed to run everywhere.

I had little to no faith in the pink plastic bottle, but... well... desperation is a funny thing...

(to be continued)