Scar City, here I come!

One of the hazards of my job is, while I can avoid poison ivy, et al. by not going near it and other helpful methods, I'm constantly traipsing through weeds, plant life, and basic grass. I can't whip out my magnifying glass and check for things that would turn my legs itchy. Sure, I use bug spray, but I still manage to find ticks (all around my *toes* of all places), chiggers, etc attached to myself because that's nature's little gift to lil' ol' me.

There were entirely too many apostraphes in that last sentence.

Anyway, these precious gifts of the universe wouldn't be such a bugger [unintended pun that I'm keeping now that I noticed it] if I didn't instictively scratch the living daylights out of each and every itch I have. No matter how much I tell myself to leave my various bug bites alone (and no matter how much medicine I slather on), I continue to itch at them without any hesitation.

Basically, they've gotten to the "blood-then scab" stage. My left ankle looks particularly heinous, almost like something quite sharp ended up shoved in my leg just above my ankle bone. As gross as each one is--and as many band-aids as I've used and tossed--part of me (the punk rock princess, butterfly temporary tattoo side) hopes the nasty bug bites will turn into interesting scars. I mean, all I have so far in life as some barely visible scissor nicks and the mole removal line gradually disappearing off my right leg. How can I even begin to compete with other people? I know people who've drilled holes in their fingers! I know someone who (admittedly accidentally) gashed open his wrist when he dropped a medieval weapon!

At least I have cool bruise stories.