Last week, I woke up to find that a zit the size of a quarter had erupted on my forehead. My attempts to cover it with mascara and pretend it was a third eye failed, so I just gazed at the ground while I talked to people and hoped that somehow no one would not notice the Post-it size blemish staring back at them.
While at work, I ran into a colleague of mine and as we chatted, I noticed her focus shift to my enormous, mountain sized pimple. She proceeded to tell me that “I had something on my face.” I responded that yes, I knew there was something on my face and quickly changed the subject. She continued, insisting that I had something on my face, as though I did not believe her. At that point, I saw a finger move towards me, which I ducked. Apparently this woman really wanted to touch whatever it was (HELLO A PIMPLE, ever had one??) that had made its home on my forehead. I shrugged away from her, and just lied; telling her that I had banged my head and it left a mark. She then launched into a 5 minute tirade on head injuries.
At this point, it was only 8:45 am.
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