Zit
A brief history, and an immediate problem.
For me, a zit is not so much a blemish as a nemesis.
My complexion, like the rest of me, is Anglo-Saxon, prone to flushing, freckles, and, now that I am old, wrinkles. Historically, pimples, when they happened, flew solo. But that solo pimple was massive, with terrible timing. Opening night of the school play. My wedding day. The time back in 1978 when I was in a Noxzema clear skin commercial.
My pimple amasses like a gathering storm, starting as dull ache just under the surface of my skin that rises, inexorably, to the scale of Mount Vesuvius. It’s always in a glaringly obvious place: between my eyebrows, or on the tip of my nose. Stress seems to be a trigger. The worst pimple of my life was the day I started my middle school English teaching job, and was not so much a pimple as a grid of pustules clustered in such a way as to form what I suspect was a carbuncle. I looked like a fairytale witch.
When I would get a pimple in my adolescence, my mother would beg me to leave it alone. Soak it with a warm compress. Whatever you do, don’t squeeze it; your fingers are full of bacteria. But how was I supposed to let a ripe whitehead or burgeoning blackhead fester unmolested? I’d risk a systemic infection before allowing something so grotesque top billing on my face. I would say yes to my mother, then head to the bathroom for a squeezing frenzy.
Which brings me to my current situation. My niece is getting married this weekend. It’s all very exciting, and I can’t wait to celebrate with the extended family. Apparently neither could the clogged pore on my cheek. When first I noticed it, considering my advanced age, I brushed it aside as a simple melanoma, but as fate would have it, it was a blackhead of epic proportions. Yesterday, I had no choice but to attack it, and today, three days from the wedding, I have what looks like a small inflamed cheekbone atop my existing cheekbone.
There’s always make-up, which I know from experience will amplify the problem. Restraint is the best option, but that ship sailed. I’m thinking for the next two days I’ll follow my mother’s advice to leave it alone and see what happens. If it’s still there after that, I’ll have to show it who’s boss.
Clearly, it.