itch

I have an uncontrollable itch. It is located at the top of my left foot at the base of my third and fourth toes. And it is driving me nuts.

Currently, I am in a class that lasts for two hours and forty-five minutes. We’ve just passed the one hour mark. Because of where I am sitting, it will be extremely visible if I take off my shoe to scratch my foot, not just to my professor (who probably already thinks I am strange) but to the majority of my classmates as well. Subtlety is not an option. Plus, my ankle boot is fastened with a buckle, and I am way too lazy to unbuckle it.

It’s okay. I can handle it. Poker face. I wiggle my toes to try to create some sort of friction between my skin and my sock, but to no avail. The itch persists. It heightens. Mocking me and my desire to follow social conventions whilst in the company of strangers. Propriety is ruining my life.

I step on my left foot with my right, digging my heel into the top of my foot. Hoping that the pain will distract from the unbearable itch. It helps a little, but once I return my right foot to its place on the floor, the itching returns. I contemplate keeping my heel jammed into the itchy area, but my right leg is getting fatigued. The flexion is beginning to make my right leg tremble. Plus, my left foot is starting to hurt. A lot. My poker face is wavering and I wince, then shift position once more.

At this point, I realize that my fidgety leg movements may be misconstrued as the uncomfortable shifting of someone who needs to pee. I do not need to pee. I just need to scratch my foot.

I need to pee.

Well, there goes any concentration I may have still had. I sit and wait for the break (we usually break at an hour and thirty minutes). Once the professor dismisses us, I rush to the bathroom. Then I buy coffee.

Class resumes. I sit down.

My foot itches.