Saturday, May 6, 2017

Zit Happens

Look, we need to talk. I know that during the beginning of my hormonal development some years ago, you and your buddies had domain over my facial real estate. You didn't pay rent, you trashed the place, and you tried to encourage every female I laid eyes upon to look away because of your rude, pronounced presence on my skin. Of course, being a somewhat scientific individual, I knew that it was normal.

While my body was figuring out what to do with newly found stimuli, you decided to take your chance and infiltrate. For years I begged my body to start evicting you guys, but it was too busy realizing that women were actually attractive now, and was preoccupied with what to do with this information. So I was left alone. With a sudden strike of genius I decided to use face wash. If my body wouldn't evict you from the precious pores on my face, I would have to do it myself!

At first I believed that the burning sensation across my skin was just the infuriated cries of your forced eviction. I thought I had finally conquered the vicious, vile fluid that you trapped under the red bubble on my skin. Sadly, I was completely unaware that the cream I was using was actually helping you guys reproduce.

Within days I noticed that you invited all of your disgusting friends to join the Shuffler House party on my head, and there was nothing I could do. So I patiently waited. I scrubbed my face with soap and water for years, and after many attempts, I finally managed to succeed. With a manly roar I looked at myself in the mirror and realized that my skin could be clear, except for the beard gardens I planted during my hormonal development. But, it was a beard of magnificent beauty. I was perfectly fine that it took up my facial real estate because it raised the value and attractiveness of the property.

Years passed with only a few stragglers sneaking in to stake their miserable claim on my face. But I was unaware of the deep bitterness boiling inside of you. You were waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Those years of conquest upon the dermal landscape had you hungry for more, and you knew I was powerful. My body had finally figured out what to do with it's newly discovered powers and was settling down. In the 23rd year of developing the Shuffler Facial Property...you came in the night.

What once was a clear, magnificently bearded landscape was now faced with a clearly developed threat. Out of all the space upon my face you could've occupied you knew where to strike. In the morning, I saw that the damage had already been done. You didn't take hold on one of the two cheeks, which were perfectly acceptable places to take your stand, nor did you occupy the bridge of my nose, which is thinner but more pronounced. No, you had to take the space most visible to other human beings. The middle...of my forehead.

Not only was this particular place inconvenient, it was also an unavoidable area upon my face. I no longer had a "good side", because of your strategic placement. Turning my face one way or another would only accentuate that side of your encampment. Well played, zit, well played.

You may have found a way to sneak back into my life, but I haven't forgotten how to get rid of you. I did it once, and I will gladly do it again. With the power of a well placed suds bomb, you will dry out and die. Mark my words, oh zit. Your days on my face are numbered...and you will never see the light of day from my forehead again.

2 comments:

  1. The blog is good but several sentences need better personal pronoun placing. Some started with you and mid sentence shifted to me. Just an observation... the theme was great!

    ReplyDelete

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