Julius Must Die
Ugh. This thing is taking over my face.
So I spackled myself up this morning and came in and gamely gave my marketing report for our monthly staff meeting, all the while hearing this repeat in my head: "Are they looking at Julius? Of course they're looking at Julius. How can they not see him? He's huge. He's waving at them, and they are waving back. No one is even listening to what I am saying. They are listening to Julius instead. And wondering why on earth the marketing director looks like an ad for what happens when you don't get regular facials."
This afternoon I finally just chucked my embarassment and shame out the window and decided to do something about Julius.
I went and found one of my favorite estheticians, Erin. "Erin, I need help." "With what?" she sweetly asked. Darling girl to ignore the giant pustule on my chin. "With this!"
She zapped Julius with this high-frequency thingy that's supposed to kill all the bacteria, all the while giving me the standard, "You know you shouldn't pick at it" and "Come see me as soon as you feel one of these things burrowing up from your spleen" esthetician lectures, while I nodded glumly and said, "I know. I know."
What was really unexpected was that many of our coworkers gathered around and commiserated on how miserable it is when you get one of these things. Molly showed us one she has coming in now (Julius' sister, apparently), and Erin zapped it for her. Ashley showed the remains of one she's been battling for weeks. Chris went all Vanna on us and displayed his oily t-zone. Soon the conversation morphed into one about cold sores and the differences between the herpes virus, and my Julius was completely forgotten.
Funny how the people you are embarrassed to let see your face are the very ones that end up making you feel so much better about everything.
So I spackled myself up this morning and came in and gamely gave my marketing report for our monthly staff meeting, all the while hearing this repeat in my head: "Are they looking at Julius? Of course they're looking at Julius. How can they not see him? He's huge. He's waving at them, and they are waving back. No one is even listening to what I am saying. They are listening to Julius instead. And wondering why on earth the marketing director looks like an ad for what happens when you don't get regular facials."
This afternoon I finally just chucked my embarassment and shame out the window and decided to do something about Julius.
I went and found one of my favorite estheticians, Erin. "Erin, I need help." "With what?" she sweetly asked. Darling girl to ignore the giant pustule on my chin. "With this!"
She zapped Julius with this high-frequency thingy that's supposed to kill all the bacteria, all the while giving me the standard, "You know you shouldn't pick at it" and "Come see me as soon as you feel one of these things burrowing up from your spleen" esthetician lectures, while I nodded glumly and said, "I know. I know."
What was really unexpected was that many of our coworkers gathered around and commiserated on how miserable it is when you get one of these things. Molly showed us one she has coming in now (Julius' sister, apparently), and Erin zapped it for her. Ashley showed the remains of one she's been battling for weeks. Chris went all Vanna on us and displayed his oily t-zone. Soon the conversation morphed into one about cold sores and the differences between the herpes virus, and my Julius was completely forgotten.
Funny how the people you are embarrassed to let see your face are the very ones that end up making you feel so much better about everything.
posted by Amy at 1:38 PM
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