The doors had just opened and a worried young man and his equally worried girlfriend hurry to the desk and demand to be seen immediately as he has a non-blanching rash.
In fairness, we see a lot of meningitis in our little outpost of depravity and despair and always act quickly to eyeball the rash.
He smelt of stale cigarette smoke and even staler beer.
He sported the ubiquitous baseball cap and local football team shirt.
"Good morning Sir...I understand you have a rash that you're worried about?"
Yeh...what it is...obviously...my girlfriend noticed this rash on my leg this morning after I'd had my shower...
"Jah...?"
And we looked on the internet....
"Jah...?"
And we didn't know what it is so we did the test with the glass...
"Jah...?"
And it didn't change colour like its supposed too...
"Okay...do you feel unwell at all?"
No mate...a bit hungover like...and hungry...
"Right...well...could I please have a look at the rash then...?"
He stood up and dropped his trousers...
(Note to self: why do so many of my stories start like that?)
...and on the middle of his right thigh was indeed a rash...
...well...
It was white, irregularly shaped, raised , about 4cm in diameter and hard to the touch.
And it indeed was non-blanching.
"Did you brush your teeth today?'
Yerrh...
"Before or after you had your shower?"
After...I like to air-dry my balls...
"How nice for you..."
Do you know what it is then...?
"Jah..."
I stood up, ran the tap and wet a paper towel.
"Here you are Sir...please use this paper towel and scrub at the 'rash'...."
Wot...?
"I think you'll find the rash is dried toothpaste..."
He wiped.
It was.
Just one of the many reasons I eat so much chocolate.
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