It is day eight of the ninth coming of Star Wars, and I have yet to step foot in a theater. What’s worse? I have yet to make firm plans to do so. What’s even worse than that? I haven’t even thought about it that much.

No, I didn’t wake from a week long coma this morning, kidnappers did not cede to anyone’s ransom offer, and aliens didn’t just finish their tests. It’s all about the rash man.

I AM the rash man. Truly I say to you, a rash is a big fat bummer floating in a sea of moisturizing lotion.

I was toying with the idea of leaving work now, but alas – Cheryl was sent to work way out in the hinterland for the day (where the father of the bride never says, “You’re part of the family now.”) I even thought I would see it anyway, not say anything, and see it with her again when she’s ready.

Will our young hero give in to temptation with rash action (look ma, a bad pun); or, will he do the right thing and save the Star Wars experience for later, when he can share it with his loved ones? Tune in next week for this entry’s exciting conclusion.