24 septembre 2006

Content may be unsuitable for sensitive minds

My eye itches every now and again. When that happens, I usually rub it. As a rule of thumb (ta da...), I'll use my index finger. However, it sometimes strikes my fancy to use my pinky. Which, as is the case with everyone, I believe, is a lot smaller than my other fingers.
The other day, my eye was itchy. Fancy struck, so I rubbed it with my pinky.

Now is a good time for squeamish souls to look away.

The sneaky bastard slid right underneath my eyelid.

Now, those of you who didn't believe the title or subsequent warning, or believed both but thought that you could handle the truth, and went ahead and read anyway, if you found that was a leetle too close to information overload and went 'ewwwww', well, that'll teach you. But know that it reads a lot more icky than it actually felt.

Still. It did feel icky. Also unsettling. And, in Carrie Bradshaw's own slightly overused words, I couldn't help but wonder. Shouldn't my own pinky finger be grateful that I have use for it every now and again, instead of turning on me like that? Will the infernal cycle of death ever end?
Nah, don't answer that.