Wednesday, March 27, 2013

it's... it's... aliiive!!! (shudder). AKA, the zit from hell

(I wrote this a few years ago. I warned you about the traumatic pimple!! Due to lack of material, I will be posting older pieces. Enjoy. Leave now if you get grossed out easily!)

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I really don't know how to tell this story so I'll just share with you the letter I wrote to the other half of my face:
Dear Zit,

Now?

Really?

I gave you a zillion chances.

I begged, cajoled, pleaded, beseeched, demanded, implored, prayed and whined about the release from your death grip on my face.

Did you respond?

NO.

You ignored me.

"Not ready!" you alluded, growing larger and larger until your bloated form hung off my chin like a blood-engorged tick. You even had a face.

It was not smiling.

I gave up on torturing you with sharp objects and heavy machinery and resigned myself to my fate.

I was exhausted.

You won.

This morning, I tiredly smeared foundation over your angrily pulsing form and headed off to work.

Now fast forward:

Five minutes before I have to give a talk IN a conference room with a LOT of people who KNOW me, and will happen to SEE me (specifically, my face), what happens?

There I am in the bathroom checking my teeth (there's nothing more distracting than a speaker with spinach clouding their pearly whites so I always check) when I notice you, yet again, dear Zit. (God, how could I NOT notice you?)

I lightly brush my finger over your shameful bump wishing you were not quite so visible and

BAM!!!

You explode!

You explode and you start bleeding and there I am desperately dabbing at you going OMG not now not now!! And blood is running down my face and threatening to stain my sweater and OH MY GOD wtf IS this, it's like I just murdered a small mammal on my face! But I don't have time for you to clot!! And so I begin running down 5 flights of steps with a bloody napkin pressed into my chin, trying to act all "I'm totally normal!" while streaking around corners with my bloody rag waving like a victory flag of the deranged while pus and blood stream like drool down my chin.

So this is my question, dear Zit.

Were you trying to get me to pay less attention to how nervous I was about public speaking by confronting me with a disfiguring emergency?

If so, you won.

Ungratefully yours,
me


I gave the talk. I hid the bloody napkin in my notebook while up on the podium in case there was a second eruption.

My coworkers were very nice and did not mention that my Halloween costume was early and out of place...!

Also, THIS happened.

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