sore thumbs

My thumbs have matching blisters. All popped and yucky and painful and, at this moment, covered in matching Band-Aids. If only the kiddie Band-Aids were big enough, I could mix and match Sponge Bob and Cars. Instead, I have boring brown-colored fabric bandages. They do the trick, I guess. All this comes from raking leaves at Laura's yesterday. I should have brought work gloves, even though my work gloves are cheap and make my wrists itch. They would have been better than nothing. Laura did not get blisters, and I don't remember getting such heinous blisters when I raked leaves as a kid, so I must have been holding the rake wrong. It felt right, though, so maybe my hands changed. Anyway, there they are. After raking, we went inside and had hot chocolate and a fire and dinner and lemon tart (mmmm) and Natalie and I did puzzles and colored, and the dog sat on me several times. It was fun. I am easy to please. My boss thinks my standards are low, but I think that I am happier for it.

Another thing, unrelated: Last week as I walked off the ferry in the huge cattle-like throng of people (ferry cattle throng? ferry throng? as long as it's not ferry thong), I noticed that the woman walking next to me had a sticker on her pants leg. It was one of those long stickers with the size on it that they put on pants at department stores. I waffled between telling her about it and not. Is it too personal to point out the size sticker on her leg? Would it just be embarrassing all around? I have had similar issues when I have sat behind someone on the bus and noticed the big mole or spot on their ear. They obviously couldn't see it themselves - did they know about it? Is it just creepy to point it out? But they might die if I don't point it out. Anyway, I debated telling the sticker woman about the sticker and then thought about writing here that I had wimped out, and I was ashamed. So I told her. And she was grateful. She said that she had been walking around like that all week, and the pants weren't even new. Hmm. And then we had to walk next to each other the rest of the way around the ferry terminal, and it was indeed embarrassing. But I felt noble. The ironic thing is that if it had been a mole or scary-looking skin spot, I probably would not have said anything. That is more personal than a sticker. But potentially worse, too, so it is actually more important to speak up in that situation. It's a funny old world.

Ooh, I just realized that I began and ended this post with stories about skin blemishes. Sorry about that.