If your body betrays you at every opportunity, is there really much you can do about it? Yeah, that’s what I thought too.
You appeared a month ago while I was with friends in Dayton, Ohio at the Erma conference. One morning I awoke to find you, huge, red and swelling by the minute. Of course you were on my face and it was the final day of the conference. Thanks so much for that.
If that wasn’t bad enough you continued to grow for a couple days, just in case anyone missed seeing you. As if there were any chance of that happening.
But give me a break here. It’s been one month and still you remain. Okay, not all of you, but enough of you that prevents disguising you with makeup. Must you continue to plague me?
I just washed and moisturized my face and noticed you are still occupying space that belongs to healthy skin. Yes, I do moisturize. You seem to forget that I have not been a teenager in over 35 years. Can’t you move along and haunt them? Can’t you make their teens miserable instead of staking claim to a face that should be experiencing wrinkles and dryness instead of the likes of you?
Every time I am out in public you lead the way. Every time I meet someone new, they get to meet you first. Thanks for that.
I’ve tried everything I know of to eradicate the likes of you. Soap. Water. Antiseptic. Disinfectant. Windex. A bazooka.
You are still here.
You kill the skin that covers your existence. I know this because I peel it off on an almost daily basis. The redness and swelling are bad enough but what’s with killing the skin? Do you have some vendetta against me?
It’s Mother’s Day and I’m going to have lunch at my grandson’s church. I’m an invited guest. You are not. So, may I ask bitch, why are you tagging along?
Today you are dark and look like a sunken volcano on my chin. I didn’t have this much trouble with you kin and kinfolk when I was a teenager. Why now? Why when I’m a grandmother must I deal with you?
I sought advice from my dermatologist and have paid huge sums of money to discover your origins and why you have decided to root yourself on my skin. No amount of money or number of tests have provided a clue. Women love mystery but not from the likes of you.
So here I am, facing another special occasion and I get to spend it with you. I’m not sure where this path will lead us in the future. Each day I look to see if you are gone, but you’re still here.
Why do you linger? Are you waiting for the birth of a cousin on the other side of my face? Are you waiting for me to extend an invitation to become a permanent resident? Give it up. It’s not happening.
If you aren’t gone within the week I’m going after the big guns. Laser. Did you hear that? L-A-S-E-R. I’m a woman armed with a credit card and have a physician on standby. Move your happy little red bumpy butt or you shall feel the wrath.
From the life and mind of:
Wanda M. Argersinger
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