Let’s hop in the Wayback Machine, again
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I had a strange memory pop up last night while I was in the midst of a minor dermatological procedure (read: popping a zit).
Before I continue I have to throw out a side note. Damnation! I will turn 40 in mere weeks. When will the bollocked acne go away? I suppose, since my face continues to exhibit the classic oily T-zone, like that of a teenager, it will never end. And further, I suppose the continuous flow of oil keeps my face somewhat moisturized and looking young. I also think having a 2-year-old as an accessory adds to my “young-looking” image.
I have had a handful of people, in the last year or two, try to hide the shock of realizing I was 38 or 39. Umm, I guess (lowers eyebrows in suspicion) it could possibly be (raises eyebrows in disbelief) that I am immature and my behavior is that of a late 20-something. (Clears throat) I’m not quite sure that’s the case, but if we’re going to investigate all of the options, that one’s out there.
Back to the real story. I was cleaning my face and I found myself in Mr. Peabody’s Wayback Machine. I just love his machine. See there. He and Sherman, his boy, wear glasses. Cause they’re smart. I wear glasses, too. You do the math.
Anyway, I remembered a girl name J@ckie R0berts from middle school. She was one of those people who was in the cool clique, but she was somewhat social and she would interact with the lesser folks (me) at times. My overall opinion of her was neutral to a bit positive.
She and I were in the same gym class together. Coincidentally this is the same gym class in which K!m and Lis@ pushed me around. And we all know that taunting is what precipitated The Day of the Fight, which was directed and produced by none other than my mother.
Anyway, one day we were finished with gym class and we were in the stairwell at the door waiting for the bell to ring so we could leave the girls locker room and go to our next class. All of the girls were lined up on either side of the stairwell, leaning against the railings. J@ckie was at the top of the stairs toward the door and I was at the bottom of the stairs on the opposite side.
J@ckie had the biggest whitehead I have ever seen in my life on the side of her nose. It was huge and it was begging to be popped. Did I mention it was huge and it was the only thing your eyes found when they migrated toward J@ckie’s head? Now I’m not one to mention something like that; it’s just not in my nature.
But there were a few girls talking to J@ckie about the zit on her nose. Not one to walk away from interesting third-party conversation, I was all ears. They were telling her, no begging her, to pop the zit. It wasn’t this blatant, I am exaggerating a tad, but they might as well have been holding lit torches and chanting together, “Pop. The. Zit. Pop. The. Zit”
I gotta hand it to J@ckie. She stood firm in her beliefs. She explained that her mother took her to a dermatologist and on the doctor’s recommendation that zit remained. Because should one pop the zit, it might damage the skin on her nose and create a scar.
Cue the raised eyebrows and the even-I-know-that-doctor-is-full-of-sh!t look on my 14-year-old face. Trust me, I’ve been popping my own zits for a good 25 years. If that were true I would look like the Elephant Man. Or Barry Manilow. And my instincts told me that, all those years ago as I stood in line waiting for the bell.
Keep in mind, I was just eavesdropping. So these thoughts were kept silent. But as we have learned I have no poker face, so if anyone had looked at me, they would have known my thoughts on the subject.
Anyway, a small debate occurred between J@ckie and the dissenters. They were offering to pop it right then. They gave their own accounts of zit popping which had yielded good results. J@ckie held firm. She rebuked all of their advice. She repeated her mantra about her mother and the doctor.
And that whitehead was there for a good long while. Clearly it was there long enough that it made an indelible mark on my mind. Twenty five years later.
I think it was there for so long that the day I realized it was gone, I was actually surprised. As you can tell, I never bought into J@ckie’s mother’s advice. I wonder if J@ckie’s face is young-looking today. She clearly had oily skin back then.
Wouldn’t that be fun if she and I met up again, all these years later, and had a face off? I wonder who would look younger — you know, I wonder who would win. I have no idea where she is and what her story is today.
But if we ever do find ourselves on the catwalk engaged in a face off, I’m bringing my 2-year-old as an accessory. I’ll use everything I’ve got. And I bet I’ll win wearing my red low tops.
