I used to be one of those people who scratched and obsessed over my pimples. They weren’t even usually a big deal, it just bothered me they were there, period.
Except for the ones that ballooned into monsters that could make your life flash in front of your eyes if you accidentally bumped it against a wall.
But one day, my father told me a tale of a boy who had a pimple and decided to scratch it. Little did the boy know that the pimple was full of bacterial pus that spread into across his face and eventually killed him.
…..oh-kay dad. If you didn’t notice, none of my pimples have pus and they never have. I shall continue to scratch to my heart’s content.
But then he kept telling that story over and over to the point where I was sure he was paranoid that would happen to one of us. And just the other day, my eyes passed by click-bait that said a woman had died when she popped her bacteria filled pimple.
Yikes. Time to whip out that Proactiv+ kit.
But thankfully, I am past that point where I feel the urge to stare at myself in the mirror while critically examining the little Mount Fuji’s and Bermuda Triangles on my face. Instead, I am a strong woman full of self-esteem–
Oh snap, I need to shave before I start to look like a snow yeti.