Yesterday I was riding the subway home from work, and a cockroach crawled over my foot.
As someone who can hardly stand the sight of ants, I probably don't have to explain how traumatic this was. The only thing keeping me from screaming bloody murder was the fact that I was packed like a sardine on the 7:00 train and didn't want to cause mass hysteria.
The only thing to distract me from my fresh case of PTSD was the unsightly - and unbearably itchy - rash that had mysteriously appeared on my legs that morning. Naturally, I didn't realize the full extent of the rash until I got to work - in a sundress. From the looks of it, you'd think my shaving cream had been laced with poison ivy. Rash Leg was really doing me wonders in the office. "Whats wrong with your legs?" is definitely my new favorite Ice Breaker. Since I hadn't changed any of my skincare products and didn't remember rolling around in a pile of fleas, I decided to blame my new allergy on "gross New York subway air". (It was one of those days. I blame the cockroach).
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