For the past few days I have noticed a red bump on my cheek. Being that I just saw my gynecologist, I’m going to have to wait a year before I find out what it might be – assuming, of course, it doesn’t go away.
While Opreggano and I were attending an outdoor concert, looking like the luckiest lesbian couple in the world – toddler in tow, one on the way, Infront/Outback in the parking lot, the only thing missing was Indigo, I asked her about my face bump. “You need to go to the doctor,” she advised me. “I don’t wanna be that guy. You know the guy, with the bandaid face,” I replied. Later, when I was home and in a place I could more properly assess it, I determined it was not melanoma, rather, a zit, calcium deposit or spider bite.
Like Tree, who once lanced his own boil, I decided to take matters into my own hands. This wasn’t my best idea, especially considering it was smack dab on the right cheek of my money maker. I did my best to make bad better, and only seemed to make bad worse.
By the time morning rolled around, I optimistically thought it looked a little better and slapped some concealer on it in hopes no one would notice. This is a lot like showing up drunk somewhere and thinking no one will notice – there is always someone who notices.
I had only been at work for about twenty minutes, and was chatting with ROFL in my office, when a coworker walked in and asked, “Did you get hit in the face?” “Oh, really? Is it that obvious? Does it look like I got hit or does it look like a zit? I’m not sure what it is, but was hoping it wasn’t obvious,” I replied. ROFL immediately provided feedback, “It is the first thing the eye is drawn to and it is difficult to not look at it while talking to you.” “Great. I may need to fake diarrhea today. I can’t chance anyone seeing my moneymaker in this state,” I told them.
I ended up sticking ‘it’ – facial fetus and time – out all day. When I finally left work, I sent a text to Opreggano advising her of the fetus’ status; letting her know I was in the process of naming it – maybe Lucky Joe; and I may need a c-section, assuming the ‘c’ stands for cheek. For now, like Opreggano, I’ll just bide my time until this facial fetus is ready to exit. I just hope my mucus plug doesn’t expel in a public place.