I think the toughest part about being a twentysomething single male in New York City (as if dating in this city wasn’t torture enough) is that you don’t want to tell anyone that you have bed bugs, but eventually someone will ask, “what are those marks on your arm?”
For those unfamiliar with the after effects of bed bugs, their bites sometimes turn into something that resembles reddish welts.
I don’t want to say I have a skin rash, or some type of STD that makes your skin break out. Two days ago this beautiful girl asked me what the series of reddish marks were on my arm. I literally told her the following, and cannot believe she bought it.
“I was fighting this guy in his house, and he ran into his kitchen, came out with a meat tenderizer and started swinging it at me. You know those old-fashioned tenderizers that look like mallets? I kept using my forearm to block each blow until I punched him in the throat and ran out.”
I don’t why I came out with that lie. I guess it was because when she asked, I didn’t have an alibi ready, and I didn’t want to tell her I have a bed bug infestation, and as you can imagine, I sure as hell didn’t want to make up having some kind of illness or STD. Illnesses that mark or deform the skin are usually contagious. Besides, the story makes me look macho because my imaginary enemy was attacking me with a weapon and I took him out with my bare hands.
I totally got her phone number. Score.