Itching To Tell You...

The doctor peered at my red streaked skin.

“It’s here,” I said pointing to my legs. “And here” pointing to my stomach. “And here,” pointing to my haunches. “And it’s on my arms.”

“Do you have dogs?” She asked poking at me with a rubber-clad finger.

“Yes.” I said.

“You say the rash moves around your body?” She asked.

“Yes.” I answered.

“I think you have scabies?” She said with a grimace.

“SCABIES.” I was indignant. “How can I have scabies?” I whined.

“If you let your dogs out, they get into garbage.”

After picking up my scabies busting lotion and some anti-itch pills, I left the hospital.

When I got home I looked at my partner with hangdog eyes.

“What did the doctor say?”

“I have scabies”

“SCABIES!”

“That’s what I said.”

“I don’t think you have scabies.”

“Why not?” I said with the force of someone who wants scabies.

Because I’m very susceptible to it. I’ve had it twice before I ever had a dog. If I don't have it, you don't have it.”

“You had scabies?”

The only advantages I can find in allegedly having scabies is that the pills are for anti-anxiety with the side effect that they take away the itch. The downside is that they make me sleepy so I’m napping all the time, or that's another upside.

I thought I was having an allergic reaction. I was having an allergic reaction, to scabies.

Stay tuned for another installment of What’s Eating Me or Visiting the Skin Doctor.