I’d like to give kudos to myself for winning at least one war, the War of the Zit.
It must have been lying in wait for a while and only chose to make its presence known before I went on vacation and met people I hadn’t seen in years. And I wanted to go zit free.
Facing myself squarely in the mirror, I gave the bugger a little squeeze and got a welt right under the eye. After searching in vain for a semi-sharp zit-operating tool like the good, old household tweezer, I came upon another solution, chemical warfare: I would smite it for all it was worth. Fortunately, I came prepared for just such emergencies when it made its presence known, so I laid down some rules for the freewheeling zit and me.
Rule One: Let it think you are its friend. That means no more roughness or squeezing. Talk to it gently if you must by saying, “Here, zit, zit, zit. Here, zit, zit, zit.”
Rule Two: Blast it with zit bashing formulas every chance you get, and I don’t mean the cheap over the counter kind, either. This is war, and it means something viable, practical and sturdy that will not take on a life of its own in a petri dish. If sterile cotton is not available from the MASH, Mobile Army Supply Hospital, then a clean, sterile hand or makeup brush will do.
Rule Three: Monitor the enemy’s counter-offensive movements in the mirror for at least the first forty-eight hours. If it is taking over your whole face or has established a good counter offensive, it may be time to go back to the drawing board or up a battle plan.
Rule Four: Measure it as part of your surveillance monitoring movement. If it is shrinking, then that is a good thing, but if it appears to be growing, then it is time to change chemicals. Some zits have a will of their own and are chemically resistant.
Because of a good military offensive, mine eventually went AWOL but not until after the meeting when it stationed one last hurrah, so I did what all good warriors do. Eschewing the idea of a concealor because of the potential for flare-ups, I donned sunglasses and scarves and went out looking all chic and mysterious until it retreated to that great zit farm in the sky or where all zits go to die.