WTF Wednesday: The Horror!

Yesterday, my friend invited me to attend a Chamber of Commerce mixer with her. "Dress hot," she advised, for good-looking men abound.

Stuck in traffic on I-35, I replied flaccidly, "Awesome," my tone sucking the steam right out of the word. But then it occurred to me that I am still single and could actually meet someone interesting there. I brightened, and accepted her invitation for this evening.

But this morning, upon looking in the mirror, I saw something that made me recoil in horror. A zit. Not just any zit, but a zit positioned prominently on my chin, waving the ugly flag and shouting, Look at me, look at me, LOOK. AT. ME!

It's not enough that I've sprouted the occasional man-whisker (ever since my hormone saturation levels dwindled to the depth of pond scum). Now I have to contend with the haunting glow of a ZITgeist, and there's no exorcising it in time for the mixer -- though Holy Father of Demonomania, I have tried.

I thought getting older meant moving beyond social awkwardness, which is a sure bet to be my calling card for tonight. People will say, "Why don't you zit down over there." And "The economy is in a zitiful state, isn't it?" Or "Oh, zit! Look at the time!" All memory of me in everyone I meet will be -- yes, blemished.

Why is there no zitmus test for your social life where, upon consideration of your RSVP, an instant color would flood your eyes with a "go" or "no-go" signal. Green: Zit-free, baby. Hokey pokey all night! Or, red: Whoa there, Bride of Freddie Krueger! Stay out of the public eye!

Oh, the horror. The horror!
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Update: I just found a nice coffee stain on my crisp white blouse (apparently from nearly falling out of my car this morning). Right. Over. My Left Nipple. OMFG. People won't know whether to not stare at my zitty chin chin or my boob. I am an equal opportunity disaster today.

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