She knew this because despite living with dogs she had not had any itches at home, but as soon as she arrived at work she had started to itch and to scratch and she couldn't stop so it definitely must be an office only infestation.
There was a grunt of acknowledgement and instruction to call through to our receptionist who also doubles as an office handyman appointment arranger when our lights need replacing, our floor tiles need sticking down, and apparently when our carpets harbour real or imaginary fleas.
I know nothing more about the infestation. Nothing at all. I do know that as soon as the incident was reported I could feel at least a dozen sites on my body that required some urgent scratching. Not flea related. I knew that. In my brain. For some reason however, my brain proved reluctant to communicate this message to the rest of my body.
Especially the front of my calf where I could feel something - not a flea, no not that, but something - burrowing deep into my skin.
All of these phantom insects were not helped out at all by my skin being dry and flaky. At any given moment I have a dozen different nerves reporting a dozen different pieces of misinformation about things that my skin isn't going through but my nerves keep insisting they is.
It lasted about half an hour all up. Then I went off and got a coffee and completely forgot the entire conversation. Along with the conversation I'd started up afterwards about scabies, mites, tics and all manner of human skin dwellers. Do not bring it upon myself.
Monday again, and you can all guess what that means.... BLOG TOUR!
Tonight the sole glory goes to Book 'em North Carolina. "Buy a Book and Stop a Crook!"
Pop on over (the posts already up) and read my biography, an excerpt, and find out all my opinions (and Lord knows I love to express an opinion) on balancing life and writing. Like a full-on serious writer chick.
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