I’ve admitted before that I do not like Mondays. It is, by far, my least favorite day of the week. It is especially hard to take after a 4-day weekend. A fun 4-day weekend during which your office is just a distant memory.
But, inevitably, it arrives; Monday morning shows up, and you drag yourself out of bed, grudgingly. And when your kids complain that they don’t want to go to school, you snarl, “Well too bad, sweetie, it’s Monday. Get up.”
The above scenario played out this morning, of course, which was bad enough, but what was really awful, the insult to my already injured mind state, were the 3 angry new zits staring back at me in the bathroom mirror. 3! (In addition to the 1 that was already there.) Wtf?
Like my dear co-blogger, Jacquie, I’m 40 years old. 40. The big four-oh. When am I going to stop getting zits?
I was forced to break out both of my acne products this morning.
Being ever vigilant about exactly what I was putting on my face.
I even brought one of them to work with me today, because guess what? I’m going to a 40th birthday party, my boyfriend’s brother’s 40th birthday party, in Phoenix, this weekend, and I don’t want to show up with a face full of pimples.
Didn’t this happen to me once before? Oh, yes. Yes, it did. But it was my girlfriend’s 16th birthday party.
Will this never end?