Ahhh. Good morning skin condition. I wish I could say it’s nice to see you. I see you’ve been busy during the night. I had hoped that by removing the Band-Aid that covers you by day, you might grant me the courtesy of curtailing your pus production for a night. Alas, I see that isn’t so.
So here you are, prominently displayed on my face — like a Scarlet A. Yet what crime have I committed to bring about this brand? At first, of course, you worried me. I kissed someone last week, and in God’s never-ending drive to keep me celibate I suppose you were designed to see if I would get all freaked out. Oh yes, I’m sure you chuckled to yourself during my 45 minute rant on how all I ever wanted to do was find love and I get one freakin’ kiss and now my face looks like I just opened the Lost Ark.
Thankfully, as you spread, you became more recognizable. Eczema, my old nemesis, we meet again. You delight in your fancy name, don’t you? But just as escargot is fancy-talk for snail, you are simply a scientific name for very dry skin. I thought we had finished our tango of intrigue that time in college but our duel was obviously not to the death. You withdrew strategically and then you lurked. Clever little skin condition, aren’t you?
A well-timed return, my friend. Apparently, Washington DC suits your purposes well. Every dermatologist in town is booked through December except for places with disturbing names like “Warts and All: Ted’s Discount Skin Doctor.” How lucky for you — you get to spend even more time attracting stares and elicting questions like, “Did you fall down?” Yes, I fell down… on my face… and just hurt the left side of my chin… ’cause I’m a retard.
And so, here we are. Face-to-pus again. You see this Band-Aid as a challenge, don’t you? A game of chicken to see which gives first — the size of Johnson & Johnson’s Band-Aid line or your ability to spread. Clearly, the three-year old tube of skin cream, angered by its lack of use, has turned to your side. Well-played — I assume that whilst I whiled away our ceasefire living my life, you were carefully marshalling your forces to prepare for these renewed hostilities. I should’ve known — the moment I stopped using that lotion that I was demilitarizing my skin in a tragic replay of the post-World War I United States. The League of Nations of my face was hopeless to prevent your Hitler-like rise to prominence on my chin.
Now, like Churchill, I must marshal my forces against all odds to defeat you… and if this face lasts for fifty years, let men still say, this was its finest hour. I shall fight you on the chin, I shall fight you on the elbow, I shall fight you around the eyes and the neck, and I shall never give up. Give me the tools, and I will do the job!
For now, I shall cover you up and wait for another day. Dr. Swann, in spite of his gentle-sounding last name, is no doubt the sleeping giant, whose entry into this battle I await with great eagerness. Game on.