I awoke this morning to a disturbing reality. No, it was NOT Hick sprawled out come-hitherly across the bed in his tighty whities.
For the past few days, I've had an annoying itch in the middle of my forehead. Right under the bangs. I chalked it up to dry skin. What with these winds blowing at 40 mph (that's faster than the in-town speed limit), it's hard to stay moisturized. All through the day, I'd catch myself scratching at that area. Being careful not to mess up my hair, of course.
This morning, after getting out of the shower, preparing to put a little lotion on that problem spot, I looked in the mirror. Thomas Jefferson sitting on a boot taking a crap! (That's my new favorite exclamatory phrase.) You won't believe what I saw looking back at me in the mirror!
No. I am NOT enlarging this picture. The Pony took it for me with his phone. WHY, oh WHY he couldn't have used MY phone, with its out-of-focus camera with no covering and inches of dust over the camera hole is beeyooooond me. On his, I need a filter. Gauze. Several inches of Vaseline. Oh, and my forehead is not a fourteenhead like this. I have my hair slicked back after the shower. And I think The Pony got some perspective like looking through a peephole to make it all bulbous like that.
But you see them there, don't you? The two bites that have been making my fourteenhead itch, heretofore unseen by Val's eyes. I really hope they're not from head lice, picked up at work. Or from head lice, picked up from Hick.
The Pony was laughing his fool head off. That might be because I told him, "Well, the proof is finally here. I am sprouting horns. Them's my horn nubbins. Maybe I really AM a devil, like your dad has thought all these years!" Or it might be because of that horrendous picture. Or the other one with my eyes in it that I refuse to show.
Funny that when I said, as The Pony was going back to his basement couch, "That's worse than my driver's license picture!" he did not comment back.
Actually, that's not funny at all.