Zit

When I was a teen, I almost never got pimples. As an adult, I've had only an occasional one. The last was years ago.

The other morning I woke up with a tender feeling in my nose. When I looked in the mirror, there it was. A big zit. It hadn't surfaced yet, but the signs were unmistakable. At my age. Jeez.

I appealed to my young adult daughter for help.

"Look at my nose. Is this a pimple?" I asked her, still in denial. Turning me to face the light, she confirmed what I already knew.

I groaned. "Can anything be done?"

Never one to turn her back on a straight line, she said "Nothing!" and added a gusty sigh. Then she cocked her head on the side, and regarded me. "Too bad it's not Hallowe'en or anything. You could have been a clown."

Finally she took pity on me, got her potions and went to work. First she dabbed a bit of cover stick on my nose, then powdered it gently over. She regarded me critically. "Nobody would notice a thing. Now all you have to do is wait. And don't touch your nose!"

"How long will it take?" I asked.

She waved her arm breezily. "A few days. Just forget it for now."

Now I was the kid, and there was my own advice coming back at me.