Ah, life.

With the strong history of skin cancer that runs in my family, I have become increasingly cognoscente of the state of MY epidermis. Two weeks ago (as many of you who have not been living under a rock already know) I had a very enjoyable holiday on the North Carolina coast. As a result - my surf and turf got a little crispy in the blazing almost-summer sun. So, THIS week I have slathered smothered and covered my skin in aloe and lotions - to prevent the inevitable peeling process that typically begins after you have scorched the first layer of skin.

Today I was examining my chest, and noticed some brownish spots. For a brief moment I panicked. Freckles? Sun spots? Weird melanoma moles? Upon further inspection - the spots began to flake away as I rubbed them. They were merely wee spots of dried-foam from my morning Cafe' Breve.

Heh.

Ohhhh, sure. There are more important things I could have written about. Like our escapades at the beach, or the fact that my baby sister graduated high school, or that I've had to share my birthday month with no less than 3 other greedy Tauruses, or that I got to hang out with all the cool kids last night at a minor league baseball game, or that my new umbrella is the COOLEST EVER, or......

Well the point is - I didn't. I instead chose to write about dried-foam-on-skin. Why? Because strangely amusing, and sticky though it may be - it's quintessential me. And I feel like I walk around most days barely taking notice of the interesting minutia - so, I share what I can here. The other stuff sits in my dusty drafts folder, waiting for its turn to be made public.

It's like a bloody Blogging Triage. 

Comments

[Heather]

Told you. I love it when you blog.

[Betriska]

Funny girl ... your mama is thankful it was only foamy leavings!