Holy crap, somebody should slap me for being so stupid as to think that the tags on the neck of the new sweater I'm wearing today Would.Not.Itch.
They ALWAYS itch! Always!
"It's not bad" I thought this morning as I was throwing the sweater on over my still-wet head while shouting at the kids to get their backpacks and get in the car NOW or we'd be late to school.
"It's not that bad" I thought to myself as I careened down the highway at 70 mph, after dropping the kids off at school and foolishly skipping my usual stop for a cup of gourmet coffee that is so delicious it makes me want to kiss someone, being passed by truckers and smart-ass drivers who think that swerving is a viable driving option at 8 a.m. in the gol-dang morning.
"I can deal with it" I thought as I frenziedly (word, much?) worked my way through morning, only pausing now and again to shift my shoulders inside the sweater to get the tag off the sensitive parts of my neck. You know, that part at the base of your neck that is normally reserved for only the most intimate types of touches? The spot where, if it's gently blown on or stroked, or, even better, lightly brushed with some lips, is bound to make a person (me, for instance) glassy-eyed? That's the spot the tag was/is niggling at. Over and over and over, like a gnat, or a 4-year old who wants a cookie.
But now? Now I Cannot In Any Way Stand It Anymore. The picky itch must go before anything good can happen to me, ever again.
Where are the scissors? Ah! Here! Come to me, shears of tag-doom, do your dirty work so I can be at peace in my very comfy new cotton sweater that has long enough sleeves and a lovely vee neck and feels like heaven everywhere but right THERE!
(sounds of snipping, and maybe just a little ripping of thread, and maybe just one or two back cracks as I twist myself into the position it's necessary to assume when one is cutting the tags off ones sweater neck while still IN the sweater.)
Then, twist back to a normal sitting position and test out "the feel" ......mmmmmm........ comfy.
Now, to do something about those sock bunches inside my boots before THEY drive me nuts.
What drives YOU nuts, I wonder?