Feeling a little blue…

I admit it, I’m a hypochondriac.

My roommate was a nurse and I regularly ask her if my {non-existent} symptoms mean I’m dying.

She also helped me discover that the mysterious ring forming on my skin after showering wasn’t ringworm, it was the result of pressing the bottle of my face wash against me for leverage. Yeah…

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And google is not my friend. Every time I search my symptoms I immediately think I have the plague.

But the ultimate hypochondriac Pawkward story goes something like this…

It was the summer of 2010. I just flew back to San Diego from my first-ever trip to Portland, Oregon.

Portland was beautiful. And it was the first-time I had ever gone on a trip completely alone. I was feeling proud of myself and happy after a lovely weekend.

As I was getting ready for bed, I peeled off my skinny jeans and grabbed my comfy sweat pants {so sexy, I know}.

I looked down.

My legs! They were… blue! Splotches of blue. Almost like giant bruises.

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Oh the panic!

Blood clots? Flesh eating disease?

I could just see it. Me with a sad expression on my face, sitting in a wheelchair, with no legs.

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I had to get to the ER immediately! I called my {then} boyfriend in hysterics.

When he answered, I screamed, “I need to get to the hospital right now. My legs… my legs are going to fall off! They’re blue!”

He was dumbfounded. “Oh my god, Jess. I’ll leave work right now!”

I started pacing back and forth in my apartment.

My roommate caught me mid-meltdown {undies, blue legs and all}.

“Jess, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Brian, my legs are going to fall off. They’re blue! Look!”

As I wiped tears from my eyes, I pointed to my splotches.

“Jeez J. What did you do? Retrace your steps,” he said.

Then I remembered…

In Portland it was raining. And I did get a little wet while running into the airport…

I quickly ran to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth and wiped my leg. A bit of the blue came off on the washcloth.

I timidly dialed my boyfriend’s number between sniffles.

“I’m leaving right now!” he said.

“False alarm,” I said. “It was my jeans.”

Him: *Silent chuckling*

“Can you imagine if you went to the ER, Jess? You’d be on some sort of Wall of Fame!”

Me: *Angry look*

So, let this be a lesson kids, wash your dark-denim skinny jeans before wearing them in the rain.

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