Uncontrolled Remotes

I have been blessed, blessed I tell you with the life long curse of the cold soar. Ever since I was little, I’d break out with them. I’ll never forget one summer going into college when I broke out with the entire top lip of my face and then, as if fat lip wasn’t enough, the sheer stress of it caused it to migrate to the bottom lip. In several places. I could barely talk. I was a sight. You don’t even know. I’m laughing now because at the time I was babysitting this baby all summer and the dad of the baby (“happily” married) was giving me funny eyes early on (pre-fat-lip). Like he wanted some nanny-action. And I was not down. Pure as the fallen snow. His private-time dreams must of come thundering to a halt when he saw the humanity of my…”condition.” This brings me to my point, I rarely get these puss-filled, funny-faced curses anymore, but I did this week and my strategy was to bombard the sucker with medicated cream (and pop an incredible amount of acyclovir). My staff knows about my … “condition,” so I can comfortably sit around looking a bit daffy on my lips. Until I forget about it and go to Starbucks order coffee and wonder what’s with the funny stares and then top that by answering the door at the studio to the cute new office guy all with white cream on my top lip in tact. Adorable. Simply. Adorable. Some days, I wish life had a pause button.