The last few days I’ve been troubled. Irritated. Distracted. Surprisingly not it wasn’t due to another incarceration for the boy, although that was a laugh a minute busman’s holiday. No, my problem is a zit. A pluke. A beezer. Threatening to eclipse my face, it’s been driving me crackers. And all I can think is just how much it reminds me of something.
It sits there, barely visible at first. But you can feel it. You think, next time I nip to the loo I must remember to check that out in a mirror. You maybe forget the first time, so then you go back for a sneak peek later. A little prod. A brave squeeze. You wince a bit. Ouch, not yet. That’ll be better when it reveals itself a little more, comes to a head. It reminds me of those frantic (enter internet search engine of your choice) phases of trying to diagnose what’s wrong with RD. You see most of the time I have a spot free record (boom), I gave up a while ago. I didn’t want to leave scars.
But there have been times where someone throws a blackhead my way. A new puss filled titbit of dialogue. Just recently we’ve had a metabolic blemish that would normally start the vicious cycle. Rufus is struggling with his blood sugars when ill. He goes all ketotic at the drop of a hat, or in the last instance, his guts and given that this has been happening a fair amount of late, there’s a hush of concern. But here’s why I left well alone this time.
Normally that type of pimple wakes you up in the morning. You smile hello but you can feel it, it’s weighing heavy on your face. So you go armed to battle it, and you give it a bit of a firmer squeeze. OK, things are happening. You can see progress but soon you realise you’re actually just messing at your surface skin and infuriatingly you can’t get to that core. It was a false alarm, some false hope. Sensibly, you jump in the shower, leave it alone but yet somehow you’re out the shower and giving it another crack. It’s getting painful now. Tears from somewhere. And all you’re left with is a mess, and still an annoying centre which hasn’t changed in size. You’re caught red faced. With a potential pockmark. And doctors can always spot it, and tease you for it, just like your Mum did when she told you to just leave it alone. Sometimes, they’re most probably right. And after all that work, it somehow just disappears as oddly as whence it came.
*Please see also;
The Upper Lip Hair of Therapy. Dull but necessary.
The Paperwork Eyebrows. Important to keep neat and tidy. Easily becomes unruly. Really frames a face when done right.
Dying My Hair. Just got to do that. This is just a NB to me.