Do you ever have the irrational fear that people are staring at you.
Looking at your face a bit too closely. Following your movements with too much concern.
I’d say I was paranoid, but then I looked in the mirror.
You see, I went to work out yesterday afternoon like I do every Monday. Same time. Same place. Same nice girl who gives me my locker key.
Except she stared.
And furrowed her brow.
And tried to hide a smirky, blushy, eye-darting weirdness. But I noticed anyway.
Upon entering the locker room I went straight to the bathroom mirror. There, staring me and every else dead in the face, a fantabulous floating booger in my right nostril, daring people to tell me to blow my nose.
But no one had said a thing. Not so much as a helpful “sniff” or a mimed upper lip rub.
And here I am with snot acquainting itself with my coworkers and finding nothing but silence.
No one said a word.
I’d have said “Booger!”. Pointed. Laughed. Moved on knowing the situation had been rectified.
Instead, I was the one blushing and eye-darting my way through a workout that felt awkward all evening.
Oh, well. More where that came from.