The Obsessive Picker

We'd finally made it to Colorado and were having nothing but good luck. We effortlessly found our way to the baggage claim JUST as our two bags popped out onto the turn-style. That's really all that happened that could be considered lucky. What can I say, I'm easily amused.

Which you probably already have figured out based on what asinine things I write about.

Come on! Be happy for us! If you've ever had a bag lost or detained somewhere I'm sure you are cheering and clapping your hands. Or not.

Whatever.

We grabbed a rental car at the airport and decided that since we were not fed on the plane (yea United!) and it was now past our lunchtime, some good eats were definitely in order. And with that we braved downtown Denver which really isn't all that bad. There's a lot of pavement, with lines, and then there are lights hanging from cords. Every once in a while there's a sign that tells you something fascinating like "stop" or "no left turn" or "pay your taxes". Very plain and simple.

We had picked a BBQ joint that was recommended by a friend of a friend (thank you Emilie!) that was way down one of the main drags. So we sat in light traffic waiting at stop lights. You know, the usual mid-afternoon downtown city driving. Naturally, being the passenger, I spent a good amount of time checking out the sites and people watching.

That is when I discovered the Obsessive Picker. She seemed innocent enough, driving her mildly beat-up hatchback with a small pile of crap in the back seat. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Nothing except for what she was doing.

Ick.

I still cringe when I think about it.

As if the nail clipping wasn't enough? I had to witness someone, not more than 5 feet away, POPPING ZITS on her NOSE in her vanity mirror.

Oh God. The mere nastiness of it all. I can still see it like it was moments ago. There she was just oblivious to the lines of cars surrounding her.

SQUEEZING her nose. And then she'd pull her hands away and inspect her nails for the treasure she just extracted from her pores.

Then wiped it on her shirt.

Naturally I've already grabbed the Husbands arm and gestured in her direction.

So by this point if she were to actually stop her obsessive picking and looked in our window she would see me, with a look of HORROR on my face, and my husband cracking up in the driver's seat.

Then the light turns green.

We all drive forward for another block and stop at the next red light.

Guess who we're sitting next to?

Like the Blog Gods just sent her down for me to witness.

But she wasn't squeezing blackheads on her nose anymore.

No, she had moved on. Must cover more surface area you see. Perhaps her nose was sore. Maybe she ran out of zits. Or possibly she just got bored and decided to move on.

Move on to picking zits on her ARMS.

And I continue to stare like there are two 10 car passenger trains headed for each other with a Bus stuck on the tracks in the middle.

Picking and squeezing.

And she's picking at obviously already aggravated sores! And how do I know this you ask?

Because I am sitting RIGHT next to her in my seat - I am SO close I can practically see the pores she is assaulting. And does she NOTICE that there are other people in plain site who can see this horrible display of grooming gone wrong?

Apparently no people, she does not.

So I would like to issue this plea. A plea to all of you out there who treat your car as if it were your bathroom. Who have mistaken your vanity mirror for your bathroom mirror. All of you nose pickers, ear wax harvesters, pimple extractors.

WE CAN SEE YOU.

Yes, we can see through glass. And not just some of us have this mystical power - ALL of us can see through glass.

So please. PUUULEEEAAASSE. Wait until you get home. Do not share this part of your grooming routine with us. Because we will watch. With sick horror on our faces.

And then we will blog about it.