I didn’t expect this. It hurts. It’s red. It’s not on my retina. It’s on my face. And, I want it gone.
The zit fairy landed on my chin this weekend. Aren’t I a little old for this? I did my time in Acne Corrections as a teenager. I’m on the pill, and usually that stops these little nuisances from appearing. Maybe I clogged up my pores by sweating in the sun, scraping paint from our ancient basement window frames yesterday.
My husband allowed me to help him out with the task. I got to work. I needed him to tell me from time to time if I was making any progress. The cracked white paint and grayish wood and decades of dirt blended into a formidable enemy against my array of scrapers and low vision.
Am I chipping away dirt? Wood? Paint? My husband would verify it for me. When I thought I was getting nowhere, he would tell me I could move on. When I thought I had scraped the frame to a new shine, he would tell me it was a good start. I stopped trying to figure it out and kept moving until my willpower faded like the sun behind storm clouds.
I’m proud to say I did not break a single windowpane in the process. But clearly, as I squint into the bathroom mirror today, I have something more that a smooth surface to show for it.