Mount Vesuvius moved onto my forehead this morning. This isn’t one of those mere mentions of pimplage. This is a full frontal explosion. I had no warning. Oh no. No tiny little baby pimples to warn me. None of the under skin ache that is the usual pre cursor to a big drop like this. The clincher is, my complexion was cruel enough to clear up in preparation for big momma’s arrival. For a moment, I thought it was smooth sailing – Clearasil ads, here I come. But, no. Nature and hormones are a bitch, and decided to drop a bomb on my otherwise spotless surface. It’s not even in a remotely inconspicuous place. Front and center, really. In real estate terms, this would be beach front property, “Christie’s Great Estates”. When conversing with people, I can’t help but notice their eyes slowly wander from meeting my gaze, to ground zero on the middle of my forehead, and back again. I empathize with the distractibility factor, being that its circumference is so vast. I still can’t help but be mildly irritated. It’s a pimple. Not a hairy mole. It happens. It’s no secret that it’s on my face. My more ornery side hopes that if I concentrate hard enough, I may be able to pop it with the energy of sheer focus. If they were disgusted before, well! My supernatural powers would certainly put anyone in their place. Because really, we can only elude the infected pore for so long. Anyone could be next.
Maybe I need a job where I don’t have time to muse about such things.
Probably not.
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Somebody Better Shut Me Up
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