I was forced to retreat. I ran into the kitchen, flinging away my shears and my gloves and my jacket, and shrieking because I was sure that little eff-er and maybe a zillion of it's friends were flying up my sleeve. Fortunately I got away. Barely.
Now my arm hurts and itches. And it looks grotesquely distorted and red. It's hot to the touch. Wah. So I'm showing everybody. A lot. Especially The Man Who Lives In My House. I just showed him again, because I thought he'd want to see how it's progressing--which it's not, as a matter of fact. It still itches and hurts. Thanks for your concern.
His suggestion, "Maybe you should take your arm on tour. Oh wait, you already are."
What? You want to see pictures? Oh well, if you insist.
|Extreme close up. See how red and puffy it is?|
|This is my tragic and pitiful look. I think it's working.|