Mystery Scratches

I didn't notice them all morning. I washed my face, ate my breakfast, buttoned my collared shirt, all unaware that my neck bore mysterious scratches. It took one my impolite students to ask, "Dude, what's up with your neck and face?"

And like all minor injuries, becoming aware of my scratches made them all the more painful and irritating. Worse still, the scratches laced my neck skin. Stretching and contracting, the fissures of flesh opened and closed with every head nod and neck twist. The above picture does not do the annoyance and pain justice. Call me a wimp, but aren't the paper cuts, hang nails, and chapped corners of lips the most egregious and unwelcome?

I checked my shirt collar for barbs. I checked my hands for shiv-like finger nails. But these scratches seemed other-worldly. I imagined a feminine werewolf sneaking into my room last night and caressing me with her fangs. That was the sexiest and most fantastic answer: a werewolf hickey.

But after a school day of living in my werewolf fantasy, I returned home to my Chihuahua/Pug dog and realized my mysterious scratches perfectly aligned with my tiny dog's nail pattern. In the end, it wasn't a secret tryst between man and lycanthrope. My dog jumping on my face and kick-starting my throat simply didn't stir me from my sleep.

What a day: I'm not a werewolf Romeo, and my neck got tore up.