Hamburger face

8:00 AM (A personal note from behind The Blue Book)

A few days ago something went wrong, even worse than usual, with the loose flap of flesh on the front of my head that’s what I’ve got for a face.

First my forehead turned red, then my cheeks went splotchy and crusty. The itching got constant that by yesterday I was convinced my visage was either peeling off … or I’m molting. The same way some reptiles outgrow and shed their skin.

Yesterday morning I went to the doctor and presented the symptoms. My worst fears screamed up from my subconscious as he looked my mug over and frowned. I knew it … what I had was not only bad … but contagious & incurable, a disease that would leave me looking like a crocodile’s uncle.

But then, hmmm ... learning I’d contracted a foul fungus that would turn my face into a toadstool didn’t seem so awful, not compared to hearing him tell me the spores of a flesh-eating bacteria had colonized my pores and were hungrily devouring my face.

Finally he shrugged and said, “It’s dry skin. Try using a moisturizer.”

Moisturizer? You mean lotion … a skin care product, for crying out loud? I’ve never even pushed a grocery cart down that aisle … and won’t, not ever.

Not until somebody like Robbie MacAllister starts marketing their own brand of testosterone-laced face balm (and does the infomercials on Spike TV).

-- --

OK it’s been like four irritable, scratchy days now and the front of my head has turned me into a walking snow storm. But I’m resolved to quietly endure my hide’s tantrums because I’d rather be miserable & hideous than seek relief from any sweet-smelling, gummy product - or otherwise do anything to jeopardize the health of my Man Card.

So what did I do--- instead of doing the smart thing & following the doctor’s orders?

I bought a Dirt Devil Extreme Power vacuum instead.

Because a new tool is MANLY … and always good for what ails ya.