WARNING! DISGUSTING PICTURES IN THIS POST!
Last Thursday, the day before the kids and I flew to Florida, I decided to clean up some branches that had fallen down in the bad storms recently. Truth be told, we hadn't cleaned up the back 40 in close to three years. But the big branches hadn't fallen until recently.
It was a warm day. I know better, but I figured I'd just wear a short sleeve shirt rather than a sweatshirt or long sleeve. Why do I know better? Because I attract poison oak like nectar attracts bees. If there is merely a memory of poison oak embedded in a fallen branch or leaf, I will suffer for it.
And suffer I have. My arms are pure hideousness. I'm thankful my arms are hairy as they'd look a lot worse if I were a blonde (or hairless). When we went to my brothers' house, all of us were under siege against the mighty fleas. The fleas won. My kids and I lost. Big time. But as I'm already grotesque due to the poison oak, I've not been as bothered by the flea bites.
Here's the one saving grace: we're going to get aboard a couple of planes tomorrow. If we need to get a fellow passenger to kindly trade places with one of us so we can sit together, we can do it one of two ways. We can smile broadly and ask politely. Or we can roll up our sleeves and shirts and show them this:
Either way, I'm thinking we're going to have a lot of room to ourselves.