[occasionally i cheat to make it look like i've been more diligent with posting stories than i actually have been. if you happen across a story when you're scrolling down the page that you can't believe you didn't see before because you've been checking daily and nothing slips by you ... then chances are that it wasn't there before and i've just added today.
not to worry though because i'll also likely have posted something on the 'real' day and linked back to it.]
a few days ago i went to the pharmacy next door to pick up some tools for the surgery i was about to undertake: it was time my stitches came out. a few short minutes pasted as i circled round the displays. the beautician came up to me and confirmed my suspicions that i was in the wrong section because it was very likely that i did not want coverup or ... whatever else it was i was looking at. it all looked like scissors and tweezors to me.
i explained to the pharmacist what my task was and asked what tools she felt i might need. she answered me with a look that told me she had never been more concerned before in her life and she had seen her seven children through diapers, school and their own births. my desire to remove my own stitches trumped them all.
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