We’ve been together a long time, haven’t we? From chubby cheeked baby, to smooth face toddler and child, occasionally pock-marked teenager (which you still sometimes toss into the mix, I’m assuming for some sick form of amusement) right up until now.
I’ve been good to you, haven’t I? I washed you, dabbed you with perfumes, rarely clogged up your pores with makeup, touched you, had you kissed repeatedly. Sometimes I’ve even taken hours to pamper you in my bathroom with a facial. So I have to ask, why are you being a dick?
For the past couple of days you’ve been red, swollen, leaky, freaky, baggy, haggard and sweaty. Call me crazy but that seems no way to repay years of appreciation. I’ve tried giving you vapo-rub to ease the stuffy, poundy center. I’ve rested a cool cloth along the eyes to ease the redness and hot throbbing. I’ve rubbed your neck, put pressure on the pressure points of your ears and yet when I awoke this morning you seemed just as bound and determined as yesterday to make me miserable.
Did I upset you? Are you mad because we don’t work and so we’re not out in the public as much? I know, you don’t get as many looks from other faces as you used to, but face, it’s not personal! Plus the compensations are tremendous; all the extra time spent with the kids means more kisses for you! And not the ‘little kid slobbery sometimes snotty nose’ kisses either, the really nice, they are all teenagers so they only do it when they really mean it (or want something) kisses. I even moved you out to a new province with less smog and more refreshing, exhilarating salty sea air.
I’m trying my best, face, but you gotta ease up on me. Stop being a dick. I know you’re just sitting there laughing. I know you think it’s hilarious every time you make me sneeze and then hear me immediately say “ouch”. I’m sure my sneeze face is really, really funny to you. I’m sure you think it’s super funny to see all the extra bags under my eyes. Laugh it up. Just let me remind you of something. You’re not getting any younger, face. And one of these days you’re going to realize that those joke-y extra bags and junk you’re giving me right now for your own personal entertainment aren’t going to go away. We’re almost 40. Pretty soon you’re going to need me just as much as I need you.
So here’s the deal. You stop being a suck-ass loser filling me up with sinus stuff and headaches and sniffles and coughs and ouches and moan-inducing crap (not even the good moans, god you’re SUCH an asshole) and I will take you out the minute you call off this siege and buy you some brownies and a nice new lip gloss. Okay?
I’m going to leave this in your court now, face. It’s up to you. I know you can do it.
Sad sick girl.