Tear Your Face Off

I cannot count the number of times over the years I have uttered that phrase to someone, half-joking; or out loud, just for fun.

This morning, I actually attempted to do that. 

To myself.

I have never had the ability to grow fingernails so instead of "tearing" my face off, I used a washcloth and RAGED against my face until it was fire engine red, raw and bleeding, followed by banging my head against my bedroom wall until I put a good dent in it.  The wall.  Not my head.  Very disappointing.

Then I got dressed and went to work.

Also disappointing was the fact that, my face, after the initial shock of trying to scrub it off my skull, showed only a few minor abrasions -- much less than the snow rash I got a few years ago while learning to snowboard -- so I have vowed to be an overachiever next time.

With the scrubbing, not denting the wall.  Although I am quite adept at patching drywall, ah, nevermind.

And oh hell to the yes, there WILL be a next time.

This morning, two of my bosses in unison, "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?!"  To which I replied with no affect whatsoever, "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."  They repeated the question.  I repeated my answer.  In the same flat tone.  Not another word was mentioned by anybody in the office for the remainder of the day, which is a feat in and of itself because I work in an office of backstabbing busybodies.

FUCK THE WORLD.