I couldn't use a picture of the subject matter. I'm sorry. It was too gross.
One would think at the age of 30 your skin would grow up and stop acting like a pre-pubescent 13 year old. I don't get it. Once you conquer three decades I think the zits should cease. Just saying.
Anyway, for the past couple of days I've been nursing a crater of pain just above my lip. I've never been more conscious of speaking and eating than I have now with the absolute epicenter of poison on my face. Of course, like all good human beings, I've been unable to leave this gift from heaven alone. I've squeezed it, touched it and prodded it to go away, but nothing has worked. Instead, all I've created is a nasty red wound.
Yesterday, as you can imagine, I was feeling rather self-conscious of my skin and went to work hoping no one would notice. Things were going well until I was asked to deliver food to a certain table. Sitting at this table was none other than Michael Keaton/My friend. As I placed their plates onto the table he asked me how I was doing, and then told me to show my eyes to his friend. Now any other day I would have been flattered that Beetlejuice wanted to admire my eyes, but this was not one of those days. As he pointed out to his friend the cool blueness of my eyes, all I could think was, "PLEASE, FOCUS ON MY EYES. DON'T LOOK DOWN. DOWN LOOK AT THE PUSS WAITING TO COME OUT OF MY VOLCANO OF PAIN! PLEASE!" After a few awkward seconds of staring at a stranger, and trying to hide my zit with an inconspicuous tongue, I made a lame joke about wooing my husband with my blue eyes and ran away.
Yeah, yesterday was a good day.