Forgive me. I knew it was wrong, yet I did it anyway. Over and over and over again. And you know what? I would probably do it again because if I were being totally honest here, I would tell you a part of me enjoyed it.
I have an enormous, behemouth, eraser-sized pimple on my cheek. There is no where for it to hide. The rest of my skin is taunting me, looking fresh and dewey. So what have I done? I have popped it. Several times. I've picked and poked and touched it and I know the cardinal rule of blemishes is to leave them the hell alone.
So now I am about to leave to take the kids to school and meet my workout buddy at the gym looking like I have been burned with a firebrand on my cheek. It's disgusting.