I have a giant pimple on my face. It is on my chin, positioned above a slightly smaller pimple.
I have decided this is a blessing in disguise. Blessings in disguise are always decisions. It can go two ways: it’s a blessing in disguise or it sucks a lot. I’ve decided it doesn’t suck a lot.
It’s a blessing in disguise because when I got up and checked the weather report to decide how much clothing to wear, it said, “INCREDIBLY FRIGGIN’ COLD. YOU WILL PROBABLY DIE.” At least, that was my interpretation. And I still don’t have one of those giant down coats because I don’t like the way they look (this is a terrible reason not to have the only article of clothing guaranteed to save your life during a New York winter). So it was either look cute and die or put on every piece of clothing I own. I looked in the mirror.
“Goddamn it, that is the biggest, meanest pimple in the world.” It wasn’t even the popping kind. Those at least are satisfying. Nope. This is the deep-under-the-surface, angry-red-mountain-rising, will-take-weeks-to-subside, maximum-surface-area, painful kind. The worst. It occurred to me that no cute outfit could save my face. The pimple was too dominant. It was controlling the situation.
So whatever– I put on a million things and waddled out the door.
(I was wearing a little more than this much clothing. source)
Later, at yoga (my second class! I’ve been to yoga more than once now!), I was peering under my own leg at the gorgeous woman behind me. Her limbs seemed to flow naturally into the poses, her hair was falling over one eye just so, like a movie poster. Her breasts seemed to support themselves, without a bra. (OK, so I checked out her boobs a little.) And my inner thigh was screaming something laced with obscenities at me about how if I didn’t put it down RIGHT NOW I would be really, really sorry, potentially forever. I remembered, as I had been remembering steadily since the class started, that I am not graceful. Not even a little.
But you know what? It didn’t matter. Because I already had a giant pimple on my face. And the possibility of grace and beauty had already been killed, much earlier that morning. So no pressure– just try not to collapse less than five seconds into the pose. After that, all bets are off.
I got plenty of work done. No mirror could distract me.
I walked by some construction workers on my way back from the subway. My huge, shapeless red coat (why don’t I just get one of the down ones??), thick hat, and massive pimple were a buffer. There was no way they’d say anything. Or even glance up. They didn’t. I smiled a little. Ha! I have defeated you with my pimple!
I’m going to book club later tonight. Who knows how many layers I’ll wear. Maybe even more than this morning. I think adding a sweatshirt is probably a good idea.
It’s been a good day, and I’d like to dedicate it to my pimple.
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Tell me your best pimple story! Go! (confession: this was not my best one. Just my most recent)
Unroast: Today I love the way I feel in really warm socks.
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