Itch

I was waiting in the airport to pick up my nephew and his flight was delayed.

That happens more often as America takes to seeking happy someplace other than where they are. The industry just can’t keep up with the discontented on pilgrimages towards fun; can’t keep enough airframes flying to accommodate the ponderable crowds.

My upper arch itched, and it became relentless. I walked; it persisted.

I finally untied my shoe,took my foot out and scratched crazily at my sock.

I wondered why I was reluctant to do it sooner.

No one was watching; no one cared to look.  The Indian family next to me was too busy excitedly arguing.  Perhaps on the merits of shoes and socks in airports

Or maybe obtaining permission to scratch in public?

I don’t know; I can’t speak Hindi.