zits
I am standing in front of a mirror, my fingers poised in front of my face. There is a zit. A large, fat, ugly, pus-dripping zit. And I am going to pop it.
First squeeze: Some pus comes out, but not enough to satisfy my face. My cheek oozes momentarily before I start to squeeze it again.
A roommate walks by. "What are you doing?" she asks.
I turn away from the mirror proudly. "Poppin' a zit," I say, rather excited that, once again, I had managed to relieve my skin of noxious infection.
"Really?" Her eyes are excited as a look of relief passes over her face. "I thought I was the only one."
First squeeze: Some pus comes out, but not enough to satisfy my face. My cheek oozes momentarily before I start to squeeze it again.
A roommate walks by. "What are you doing?" she asks.
I turn away from the mirror proudly. "Poppin' a zit," I say, rather excited that, once again, I had managed to relieve my skin of noxious infection.
"Really?" Her eyes are excited as a look of relief passes over her face. "I thought I was the only one."
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