Darth Vader, mystery scars, and Halloween Past

There is this one guy I work with who always gets really into Halloween. I don't know him all that well, since he works in another department, but it's a well-known fact around here that he will show up to work on Halloween in a fantastic costume. He is also a really tall guy, so no matter what he dresses up as, it always looks impressive.

I was walking into work this morning, walking down the hallway, when the elevator at the other end of the hallway opened, and out stepped Darth Vader, complete with the spooky breathing sounds.

It was such a realistic costume, that for a split second, I actually felt a smidge nervous. I forced what I hoped was a casual smile as he approached me, and in reply, he uttered a chipper (but muffled), "Good morning."

Seriously, if you could see him, you would fully understand my momentary intimidation.

. . . . .

I am missing a smallish but noticeable chunk of skin from my right forearm. It looks like I scraped it against something, though it's not quite a scab yet. The bad thing is, I have no earthly idea how or when I did it. You would think that something that hurts this much would spark a memory, but you would be wrong. This is merely the latest in a long line of various bodily injuries that I have no recollection of. (Or, as I like to say, further proof that full senility is not as far away as I may have hoped.)

Speaking of these types of injuries, I had one on this same forearm (other side) several months ago. Except this one resembled a rug burn. Again, I had no idea how it happened, but it scabbed up and went away, leaving in its place a scar. Yes, a scar. It wasn't even a cut--it barely scratched the surface of the skin, and didn't bleed at all. And yet, I have a scar. It's the kind of scar that probably no one but me would notice, but I know it's there, and it bugs me. I bears an eeries resemblance to a scar on my other forearm that resulted from my arm making contact with a hot, greasy fry basket when I worked at McDonald's lo, these many years ago. You expect a scar from an injury like that. You don't expect a scar from a rug burn.

Actually, I just checked, and Ye Olde McDonald's scar seems to have faded into oblivion. Which makes Ye New Rug Burn Scar that much more insulting.

Getting old sucks.

. . . . .

Let's take a walk down Memory Lane, shall we?

This was Ari on Halloween last year...



The reason she's sitting all crazy is because she was only just learning to sit up alone--she actually toppled onto her side right after this picture was taken. She just rode in the stroller last year while we accompanied some friends, and if I remember right, she even fell asleep.

But this year, she'll be walking all by herself (well, she'll be holding someone's hand--reluctantly, I'm sure), going up to doors, collecting candy, and probably doing her I'm-shy-but-wait-I'm-really-not act with all the strangers she meets.

Tomorrow, there will be pictures. You have been warned.