The post where I talk about my ringworm.

I have ringworm.

I think that pretty much solidifies the sad fact that I will say anything, broadcast any little embarrassing tidbit of my life, to the entire Internet. Internet, I have ringworm. Ringworm!

I’m not particularly proud of this fact (that I overshare, not that I have ringworm, although I’m not terribly proud of that either.), but I like to think of it as a charming rather than annoying feature of my personality. Charming. Right. We’re going to stick with that.

I went to see Julie & Julia last night and it wasn’t a good movie at all, but the part where Julie and her husband get into an argument about her blogging did feel shamefully familiar. I do pity my loved ones. They have to put up with my narcissistic, often childish behavior, and my incessant preening. My constant need for validation. I feel like I’m seeing myself more clearly lately, and not liking a lot of what I see. I know that I can be a burden on the people whom I love most. *sigh* Like Sally, in When Harry Met Sally, I’m the worst kind: the kind who thinks she’s low maintenance, when really she’s high maintenance.

Anyway, enough seriousness, now back to my ringworm.

So I noticed this little patch of dry skin on my right shoulder, which wasn’t all that alarming because I have ridiculously dry skin all the time, but this little patch was sort of flaky looking and then the next day it started to itch. And then by yesterday there was a raised reddish circle and I had a falling feeling that it might be ringworm. Which is gross. Because it just sounds gross, right? Ringworm! It’s like something that mangy dogs get from licking each other’s butts.

So I dug around in the medicine cabinet (That’s a lie, because we don’t have a “cabinet” per se, but that part isn’t important.) and found a little tube of athlete’s foot cream, which, don’t ask me why, I know is supposed to cure ringworm as well. Because it isn’t actually a worm; it’s a fungus. Which is grosser: an actual worm or a fungus? It’s a toss up. I applied the cream, slapped a band-aid over it and then went on my merry way…

…to a family reunion yesterday afternoon, to which I stupidly wore a sleeveless shirt, and I swear to you every single member of my family asked what happened to my shoulder. And I had to keep saying, “Ringworm. Ringworm. It’s ringworm. Yep, ringworm.” And really, I know I suck, but family, you guys are freaking nosy, okay? Nosy! Stop asking about my ringworm! I licked a dog’s ass, okay? That is how I got it.

So my Uncle Frank insisted upon a tried and true home remedy whereby diesel fuel is applied to the ringworm to kill it. And Elecia seconded that oh yes, she had definitely heard of this and it would totally work. It’s difficult to tell with Frank. I’m 50 percent sure it was legit, but then 50 percent sure he just wanted to see if I would actually let him dip my arm in diesel fuel.

I did. Let him dip my arm in diesel fuel. Actually, he dipped a Q-tip attached to the end of a fly swapper with electrical tape in diesel fuel and then applied it to my arm. (Is my family freaking bonkers or what? Is it really any wonder I’m such a lunatic? I can’t really be expected to take full responsibility for my neuroses, can I?)

This morning the ringworm still looks like ringworm. Frank told me to leave the diesel fuel on there “for a while” and not wash it off. When I asked how long “a while” would be, he said at least a couple of weeks. I’m at least 80% sure he was kidding…

Don’t worry. I’ll let you know how it turns out. Why wouldn’t I?