Yesterday was my day of rest after a long and overly grueling week. I chose to lounge in bed, watch movies, nap, and read a book. Noticing that I had a massive zit forming above my lip, I decided to put on my usual pimple removing cream.... toothpaste. The minty sensation not only dries up the nasty blemish, but it also gives me a fresh feeling, which I like. It's incredibly sticky at first, but once it crusts over, you don't even know it's there.... which leads me to my problem.
    After lying in bed for a couple of hours, I had completely forgotten about the pale blue gunk that had hardened on my face in a blob directly under my nose. So when I heard a knock at the door, I sauntered downstairs and opened the door without a care in the world. I greeted Chad, our adorable Schwan's man, with an unknowning smile. He gave me a curious grin in return, but I had no idea why. I proceded to smooth down my hair and wipe any racoon-eye mascara streaks from under my eyelids, just in case I looked a mess. After placing my order, Chad went back to the truck to retrieve my purchases while I ran inside to grab my wallet. I took a quick glance in the mirror before reaching the door and realized, with embarrassing horror, that I had forgotten to remove my "zit cream" before going outside! I licked my finger and furiously began scrubbing my face (which actually causes the toothpaste to foam up). Dang it! I ran into the bathroom and washed it off with a bit too much vigor.... leaving my upper lip raw and bright red. Great.
    I can see Chad's figure standing at the door through the curtains and I'm forced to return without retrieving my coverup stick. I step out onto the porch and Chad looks at my face with a smirk. He obviously sees that I realized I had toothpaste all over my face (so he thinks I have terrible aim when I brush?) and that I tried to remedy the situation, which ended very poorly. Yet, he is a gentleman and wants my continued business, so he looks away and makes small talk about the weather while refusing to look at my face as my debit card TAKES FOREVER to process. The awkwardness was getting to me and I let out a nervous giggle (because THAT obviously helps awkward situations). Please, God, please, let the debit card go through! Finally, just as I'm about to explain my pimple situation, Chad hands me my card and receipt and I'm free to escape inside. The moral of the story is.... don't get pimples? And if you do, forget zit cream and go with the paper bag? Who the heck knows. Just be glad you're not me.