There’s a man’s face on my leg. I’ve tried figuring out if it’s someone I know, but I fail to place the handsome features, or assign a name to the beautiful stranger. But he can’t be unknown to me if he’s positioned two inches below my knee.
It began three weeks ago. A slight itch turned into violent scratching, and my fingernails showed no sympathy to the reddening skin upon my slender limb. Morning, noon, evening, the itch had a mind of its own, and the reddening patch grew with equal ferocity.
After much thought and two strips of anti-allergic pills, I scheduled an appointment with a well-known dermatologist. But the morning of my doctor’s visit, I discovered the patch had transformed into a gorgeous face with a headful of luscious hair.
I cancelled my appointment and settled down on a recliner. Putting my feet up felt good, staring at the face on my leg felt even better. It was oval shaped, the chin not too protruding, and the forehead and cheeks aligned in perfect symmetry. Deep-set eyes, a skinny nose, lips that could make a woman swoon in desire.
There was no way I was getting rid of him. He was mine and would remain so forever.
It’s not easy being single.
This face on my leg would be my little secret. No more shorts or skirts, but that was a miniscule price to pay for a beautiful face I could look at twenty-four seven.
Maybe if I scratched some more, he’d grow a torso and legs, and become my ‘happily ever after’.
The itching has gotten worse. The man’s eyes and nose are bleeding. And half of his head is a bald, bloody mess. I think he might be dying.
Maybe I should see a doctor after all.
The Vegetable Vendor sells his vegetables with goodwill and patience. But his customers will never understand his lifelong dilemma.
Go on! Check out my Short Stories Books – Free on Kindle Unlimited