It had been threatening for days like storm clouds that don't do anything. Wednesday morning I woke up and the storm had arrived. There it was in all of its glory. A Prom Zit! It glowed in its new home just above my mouth.
You know the kind -- you have chosen the perfect dress/shoes/jewelry. You are having your hair done up fancy and putting polish on your nails. You are ready to have the whole fairy princess thing going and you are going to look so amazing. Then, the morning of that special day, IT arrives. An alien presence, a toxic growth. It might as well be a big neon sign sitting on your chin, or your cheek, or the middle of your nose screaming "Look at me!" Despite all of the finery, it is bound to be the first thing people see when they see you. No amount of pancake makeup or blemish cream will help. You do try -- so much concealer and powder that it looks like you applied papier mache to your face -- yet it dominates.
Well, I really thought at nearly 67 I had moved past that. Yes, I have sagging jawline and flabby arms and a bigger nose that I had in my youth (I swear, it is bigger) and my wrinkles have advanced to drapes and gathers. However, I should be past the Prom Zit stage of life, shouldn't I?
I put alcohol and pasty white stuff on it (Alex said I looked silly) and it does seem to be drying up. I guess it was sent to me as a reminder that when I wish I could look like I did 50 years ago, I might be forgetting that the indignities of youth seemed as serious then as the issues of the gold-plated years seem now.
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