Something happened to my face recently. Don't know exactly what's going on, but I know that the visual result is a horrifying conglomeration of red splotches on my cheek. Just on the right cheek. And they aren't even pimples, because, trust me, I would know how to handle those. They just LOOK like pimples.
They are, however, in a symmetrical arrangement that defies nature. Three in a line right down my cheek. And then a few more besides. But it's the three in a line that are really distracting.
So I broke out the foundation this morning. Put on some concealer. That's why it's good to be a woman, right? You have the option of concealing when weird shit happens on your face. Why, if I were a boy I'd just have to pretend it wasn't happening. Or put a large bandage over the right side of my face. Thank goodness for concealer.
When I was getting the kids in the car, Owen found a little pink marshmallow in his car seat. He can find these little treasures because Owii takes time to smell the roses, my friend. He doesn't rush though his day, missing the finer points of world around us. He OBSERVES. The rest of you, with your getting-to-work-on-time-ness, and your not-being-late-ness, well, that's all fine and good, but you just keep missing all the little pink marshmallows, you know. All those, old, stale, hard, tiny pink marshmallows just fly under your radar.
Anyway, Owii found his tiny pink marshmallow and Sam says, "LOOK! Owii found a little marshmallow! Like you have on your face! HA HA! It looks like you have marshmallows on your face! Or, no, wait, I think it looks more like a candy cane, because it's all like that!" As he traces the line of theoretically concealed splotches down my face.
Just in case I thought I was fooling anybody.
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