After spending two days in the sun with little to no sunscreen, my burnt skin is now flaking off my body.  It is landing on the collar of the black shirt I so smartly chose to wear into work today.  I look like the Queen of Dandruff, with my loyal flakes lining on my shoulders as if we were holding court. 

In order to combat this less than appealing situation, I armed myself with lotion and an adhesive lint roller.  About every fifteen minutes, I squirt a large dollup of lotion onto my palm and proceed to lightly rub it into my shoulder, leaving a light film in order to keep the dead skin from flaking before I can reapply in the next few minutes.  Once the lotion dries and I begin to lose my shell like a little bug, I break out the lint roller and attack the flakes that managed to stick to my shirt.  It works pretty well, as no one has given me the stink eye today and recoiled in fear that my skin “disease” might spead to them.

Now, I don’t know what made me decide to do this, but when it dawned on me, it sounded like the best idea in the world.  I ran the lint roller right over all of that dead skin.  Guess what the lint roller did?  Peeled it right off, that’s what it did!  I sat for a few minutes and marvelled over how interesting all those dead skin pieces looked stuck to the sheet of paper.  I also marvelled at how ridiculous I might look to anyone around me as I lint roll my body. 

I wondered for a moment why we, as human beings, are so fascinated with something so minute as flaking, dead skin.  Maybe it has to do with our own mortality.  Rarely do we have the chance to see a dead part of ourselves as we do when skin sheds.  Little pieces of us are gone, but without pain or remorse.  A tiny inkling of what death might be like in the future.  Then again, all it might be is my dead skin flaking off and me finding silly new ways to use common, household items.


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