I was a very attentive student, and I am nearly certain my junior high health teacher never mentioned the possibilities of getting pimples in adulthood. Pimples are for teenagers and anyone on steroids.
I am neither.
So why am I nursing a pimple that is firmly rooted between my eyebrows?
My children asked what it was, and I told them I'm turning into a unicorn.
That happens after a certain age, right?
I did what any self-assured, confident woman would do in this situation.
I anxiously called a few friends and asked them how to dry up and hide my budding horn.
My friends are morons.
Toothpaste was the number one suggestion to dry it up. Well, didn't I look lovely.
Even my children mocked my minty-fresh horn. In addition to turning into face plaster, toothpaste does make you feel as if your skin is burning off. And we use this stuff on our teeth? No wonder my gums bleed!
In terms of coverage, concealer was recommended. Well, that may have worked better had the toothpaste not melted my skin and formed a sore the size and shape of Ohio between my eyes. As it is, the concealer was sucked up by my open wound creating a scab that only highlighted the large nub I was trying to conceal. Ironic, right?
I would like to ask the evil pimple gods why they chose to place this enormous puss-filled nodule in the center of my face. I was complaining to my husband who pointed out that he gets pimples, too. I asked to see them and guess what. He has one behind his ear. How is that fair? I told him my pimple could kick his pimple's ass.
I swear I am housing the mother of all pimples. I should name it.
Hmmm...Mount Pustule might be appropriate.
Now I'm online actually wondering if we should remortgage the house so I can afford face cream that guarantees that the pimple gods will never visit my face again. 100% guaranteed.
Tempting, but I've got to evict the one leasing space on my face first. It's scaring young children. I overheard my children talking while setting the dinner table.
My son said, "You can sit by mom tonight. I don't want to sit next to her pimple." Isn't that the saddest thing you've ever heard? My pimple needs its own seat at dinner!
Because there is a comic in every family, mine is having a competition related to who has the best pimple jokes. After dinner, my daughter taped a third eye to her forehead and my husband said, "I would be pretty sure that Mount Kilimanjaro is in Eastern Africa if it wasn't clearly on your face."
Meanwhile, my son is visibly frightened by my pimple and is trying to avoid it (me) at all costs. Frankly, this is hard to do since the pimple seems to have its own blood supply and is growing rapidly.
On the bright side, once I rid myself of this 5th limb, I imagine I'll weigh 5 pounds less!
I am neither.
So why am I nursing a pimple that is firmly rooted between my eyebrows?
My children asked what it was, and I told them I'm turning into a unicorn.
That happens after a certain age, right?
I did what any self-assured, confident woman would do in this situation.
I anxiously called a few friends and asked them how to dry up and hide my budding horn.
My friends are morons.
Toothpaste was the number one suggestion to dry it up. Well, didn't I look lovely.
Even my children mocked my minty-fresh horn. In addition to turning into face plaster, toothpaste does make you feel as if your skin is burning off. And we use this stuff on our teeth? No wonder my gums bleed!
In terms of coverage, concealer was recommended. Well, that may have worked better had the toothpaste not melted my skin and formed a sore the size and shape of Ohio between my eyes. As it is, the concealer was sucked up by my open wound creating a scab that only highlighted the large nub I was trying to conceal. Ironic, right?
I would like to ask the evil pimple gods why they chose to place this enormous puss-filled nodule in the center of my face. I was complaining to my husband who pointed out that he gets pimples, too. I asked to see them and guess what. He has one behind his ear. How is that fair? I told him my pimple could kick his pimple's ass.
I swear I am housing the mother of all pimples. I should name it.
Hmmm...Mount Pustule might be appropriate.
Now I'm online actually wondering if we should remortgage the house so I can afford face cream that guarantees that the pimple gods will never visit my face again. 100% guaranteed.
Tempting, but I've got to evict the one leasing space on my face first. It's scaring young children. I overheard my children talking while setting the dinner table.
My son said, "You can sit by mom tonight. I don't want to sit next to her pimple." Isn't that the saddest thing you've ever heard? My pimple needs its own seat at dinner!
Because there is a comic in every family, mine is having a competition related to who has the best pimple jokes. After dinner, my daughter taped a third eye to her forehead and my husband said, "I would be pretty sure that Mount Kilimanjaro is in Eastern Africa if it wasn't clearly on your face."
Meanwhile, my son is visibly frightened by my pimple and is trying to avoid it (me) at all costs. Frankly, this is hard to do since the pimple seems to have its own blood supply and is growing rapidly.
On the bright side, once I rid myself of this 5th limb, I imagine I'll weigh 5 pounds less!
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