About 30 minutes ago, I decided to scratch my back with an open ball point pen. I don't know if 'decided' is the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. Depending on the elements involved, this may not be a huge problem. Black shirt, black pen, who cares? Unfortunately I'm wearing a white shirt and I used a blue pen. My back scratching endeavor therefore resulted in what looks like a really crappy children's drawing on the left shoulder of my shirt. Lame.

So at this point, I was left to weigh my options, sit here, like a boob with a series of squiggly lines drawn all over the back of my shirt OR go to the bathroom and try to use a little water to get the ink out OR go grab a handful of blue pens, break them open and smear them all over hoping to turn my white shirt in to a blue shirt. Of these three options, the second seemed like the best choice, so moments after cursing at myself for being an idiot and slapping myself across the right cheek, I retired to the men's room in hopes of ridding myself of the self-induced fashion graffiti.

  Luckily, when I got to the bathroom, I was greeted by all open stalls, so there was nobody who would be wondering why there's the sound of undressing coming from the handicap stall, followed by the sound of a shirt being smeared with water and hand soap. So first I walk in and try to blot the ink out with a paper towel without smearing it or using too much water, however, my efforts were fruitless. I then tried with just water, nothing. It was at this point that I got a little pink hand soap and a ton of water and started smearing my fingers eagerly at the blue lines on the back of my shirt. The success was only moderate, but the lines did fade a bit. I then pulled the shirt from the sink and realized that the area which was now soaking wet with water far outreached the ink-infected area. I also realized that the pink soap doesn't rinse quite as cleanly from clothing as it does from one's hands, so now I had faded blue lines and a subtle pink highlight on the shoulder. Oh well, too late now, it's either wear this 5% tie dye shirt or sit at my desk shirtless for the rest of the day and hope that passersby don't notice. I haven't had my chest waxed in a while, so I decided not to go shirtless; however, I'm also not going out in this soaking wet garment, so I now have to wait for it to dry. Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of those air hand dryers, so my only option for drying the shirt was to hang it from one of those handicap hand rails on the side of the wall. I hung my shirt gently on the handrail, then realized that if someone walked in to the bathroom, my visible pacing feet going back and forth in the stall may come across a bit weird, so I had to drop my pants and sit on the toilet for 20 minutes while my stupid shirt dried. I suck, and I just wanted to share this fact with the rest of you. If anyone has an extra back scratcher lying around the house that they don't use, I'll buy it from you.