Are you a scab picker? I have to admit that I am. I don't know why, but I can't leave the little buggers alone. I mean, I'm not going to pry up a surgical staple, but there's something relaxing (to me) about pulling up the just-healed edge of a pile of red blood cells and platelets and peeking underneath. Actually, I don't even have to look at it -- it's more the sensation under my fingernail. Is that weird? That's not weird, is it? Why are you running away?
Anyway, apparently I'm not the only one with an odd fascination with the body's protective system. Here's an entire book about scabs. It claims to be the complete book of all scab knowledge (after all, "ALL" about scabs should mean ALL, right?). I may need to buy this and see if there's a name for my condition.
And if you liked the scab book, here's another by the same author. Clearly, the cover artist has never, ever, seen real breasts.
