Their origins are varied, either a miscalculated step on a sandy patch of street or a spill from a bicycle among others. And there is that split second, before the actual "landing," in which something in your brain snaps and your hands shoot out in hopeless hopes of somewhat curbing the fall.
But as we all know, what that does is spread the wealth, resulting in two scraped kneecaps and nasty if not deep abrasions to the palms of your hands. After picking yourself off the road, you amble home and reach for the hydrogen peroxide and a box of band aids.
No matter what your age or who is pouring that peroxide onto the fresh wound, your eyes shut and your teeth clench, and you open your eyes for a split second just in time to see the foam, let's not explain any more.
A few days of hobbling around and tossing out dramatic versions about the injury's origins, the end is the same: one or two oddly shaped dots which are completely different from your skin tone that remain visible clear into the winter months.
Instead of X marking the spot, now the dot does.
Instead of X marking the spot, now the dot does.
I've got two brand new ones of my own today thanks to recent road work in front of my house -- the Rhode Island Department of Transportation (RIDOT -- DOT, get it? Dot marks the spot? Somebody stop me) has yet to even out the new asphalt they have been noisily installing for the last several weeks. It's hard to see that rise in the roadway. Needless to say, RIDOT is even further up on my you know what list for two very red painful reasons.
Amen, and pass the neosporin.
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