One Step Forward, Two Steps ON MY FACE!

**Note.  There is no rhyme or reason to this post.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in the guest room ellipting and Matt was keeping me company. We don't have DVR on the guest room TV (Or good cable even--every time Matt's in there he praises our newer, nicer, high definition TV. What's wrong with the fuzzy lines running through Roseanne Conner's face? Matt's a TV snob, but I digress.), so we're left to watch garbage during that time. Usually, I'll try to time it so that I can watch Rachel Maddow or The City (last night I was really lucky and caught some of the better parts of Sister Act) while I ellipt, but on this particular night all that was on that remotely interested us was MTV's True Life: I Hate My Face. I think I only wanted to watch it because I had so much fun saying the title over and over again, and then, of course, yelling at the TV, "I hate your face, too!" There's something so entertaining to me about emphatically using the word face in my daily language. Try it out.


Other digression: jokes. One of my favorite memories of Chloe, one of the times that I realized that she was truly funny, was when she was three years old. She was with my mom and brother, and they'd all driven down to JMU to pick me up because it was Christmas break. (How did I live without a car for an entire year?) So, as we drove the 2 1/2 hours home (It always took me longer when I was by myself--like 4-5 hours--because I have a terrible sense of direction and can't pay attention to anything. One time I missed the state of Maryland completely. How does that even happen?), we were telling knock-knock jokes to Chloe. You know, the "Banana, banana. . .orange you glad I didn't say banana?" and the "Interrupting cow. . MOO!" She laughed, and at some point it occurred to us that she was actually getting the jokes, not just laughing because of all of the stupid animal noises we were making. So, in the spirit of Christmas, Jordan and I wrote our own knock-knock joke:

Knock knock!


Who's there?


Santa Claus.


Santa Claus who?


SANTA CLAWS YOUR FACE OFF!

She laughed and laughed, and we knew that we had something special in that little tyrant. (There was another joke about Pikachu which was just as funny, but not as seasonally appropriate.)

But back to faces. I'm getting old, and I can see it in my skin. Maybe all of those sunburns and days of lying in the sunshine weren't so smart after all? I've really been noticing it in my hands. I'm starting to have wrinkled up old lady hands. (I also have a shitload of gray hair, but I'm determined not to color it--at least for a long time.  What I really want is one of those sassy women skunk stripes, but I don't know how to make that happen.) I was talking to Cassie about my old lady wrinkly hands this weekend, and the subject turned to face wrinkles. See, I'm not terribly concerned about the face wrinkle thing just yet, because I've found a more natural form of Botox: baked goods. I figure that as long as I keep plumping my face up, then I won't have to deal with wrinkles. Obviously, though, this is a terrible idea. So Cassie was talking about the soap she uses, Dove Sensitive Skin face bar, and she was raving about it. Now, I am kind of reluctant to put soap on my face because every time I do I get zits. Really. Usually I just wash my face with a washcloth and hot water, and that works well for me. (True story. I had tons of pimples as a teenager until the week I ran out of soap and my mom wouldn't take me to the store to get more. Used only water, and my face cleared right up. Weird, but kind of convenient.) But last night I tried out the new soap, and my face felt silky smooth! I was so excited. I just kept touching it and looking at it. Horray for soft, moisturized skin!

So I went to bed, pleased with myself and with my face. Then Mitch decided that he didn't like the spot where he was lying, and he started to do that thing that dogs do, where he kept stomping on the blankets and pillows with his feet, nudging pillows with his face, until he made the spot just perfect. He turned around in circles for about thirty seconds as he sought out that most comfortable of spots, and during his spinning maneuver, before he plopped down and let out a big dog sigh, he stomped on my face with his rough ol' Dorito-smelling back paw. It hurt like hell, and I screamed, and he looked at me like I was crazy, and now the side of my face is all red and scratched up.

And now I'm the one who hates my face.