Recently I spent an afternoon sharing a small, confined space outdoors with someone.
Can I get any more vague than that, in an effort to not tip off who I was working for at the time? Freelancing, and all. Anyway.
She had extremely dry skin, and mentioned it. Since I am still a Mom, I have everything in my purse, so I offered her my lotion. She declined.
A bit later she complained again, and I offered again, and no, she didn't want any.
As a mother of TEENAGERS, this is when my usual "Then stop complaining, if you won't accept help," impulse kicks in, but I did not whip THAT one out, as there is no future in being rude to people who can get you paid.
A third time, she started to complain about her dry skin. And then, just as the wind picked up, she started scratching, violently.
The skin flakes looked like snow, or ash, as they landed on me. There were that many, falling lazily all over me. I LEAPED off the bench, begging her to stop scratching. Which she did.
All this to say, I have very little to blog about these days that is not boring, or gross, or something I can't mention because it could wreck my career.
On the bright side, I am going to cash in early because my bedside table has a great book on it: World Without End, by Ken Follett.