Yesterday I stopped at a fast food taco place for a taco salad. In front of me was a man in his 30s.
I really noticed him because he had lifted his shirt up to his armpits and was scratching himself. First the left side, then the right side. And let’s not forget his beer belly in the front.
Because his jeans were too big, I was able to not only see his entire top half, but also a good six inches of his briefs. Yup, briefs; they were gray. Gray as in color, not gray as in dingy. Thank goodness for that!!
The entire time he was in front of me, placing his order, he scratched himself here, there, and everywhere.
I am extremely thankful that he didn't touch any of the food as the employees did it all behind a glass pane. And you can be sure I watched to see what he might touch at the self-service drink counter.
Again I was thankful that he did not get a drink. He left with his food and several final views of a scritch here, there, and everywhere.
After I received my food and got to my car, I felt as if I had the chicken pox. I had to spend several seconds scratching my hands and arms.
Then it dawned on me. I wasn't actually itchy; I was subconsciously itchy. I thought of the old Simpson's cartoon show, Itchy and Scratchy.
I chuckled, stopped feeling itchy, and went home to enjoy my taco salad. Wonder if that guy is still scratching himself?