It was a typical Saturday night; getting drunk with friends, which leads to the urge to skinny dip. The usual. I’ve never been one to cower at the thought of being naked and this night was no different. We all washed down our “grillables” with the last of whatever the hell we were drinking and walked/stumbled/laughed our way to a pool in a neighboring apartment complex. It was after midnight so we were sure we’d be our only spectators. We’d arrived at our destination to do the devil’s work. I was the first one undressed, of course. As the others watched, I struggled to sling my vodka-soaked body over the four foot fence surrounding our watering hole. It was a clumsy yet successful attempt and, after dusting my knees and left side off, I was in the water. I’m sure it was fun. I couldn’t recall. All I can recall is that I woke up the next morning with a burning pain from my knee. I say all that to say this:
How does one remove a waterproof band aid from a flesh wound?
(This story is a fictional story with glimmers of fact threaded into it. You know, to deflect the judgements.)
FreeHudson 