The Tale of the Liberal Zit (In Three Parts)

One of the biggest (and occasionally enjoyable) hassles about moving to a new city is locating and starting meaningful relationships with a host of new personal associates, including but not limited to one's new doctor, dentist, landlord, neighborhood barista, vet, accountant, etc. Having thrice moved from one coast to the other, I have almost perfected the art of finding new peeps.

After weeks of investigation (truthfully, involving little more than asking some friends "Who does your hair?"), I found a new hairstylist, a lovely Vietnamese man named Andy, to whom I entrusted my curly tresses this afternoon for the first time. Curly hair is a good and bad thing for precisely the same reason: it's kind of difficult to fuck it up. Nonetheless, I felt I was in good hands with the prettier-than-me Andy (whose business card, amusingly, reads simply: "Andy For Hair").

I very rarely blow my hair out straight simply because Good Christ, I could circle the globe on foot in the time it takes to iron out those damn curls. But oh, how I love the look of sleek strands in that classic grass-is-always-greener sort of way. Yes, straight-haired lady, I know you spend a fortune on perms to get ringlets like mine but please try to appreciate how I envy you your curl-free existence.

Anyway, today I gave in and let Andy wield that blow-dryer like the hair god he is, straightening my hair to within an inch of its life. While he was slaving away, I thumbed through a copy of Cosmo, the cover of which promised to teach us "How to Never Have a Zit Again!"

Wow! What a remarkable breakthrough in medical technology! I found this claim fascinating, though I must admit it didn't interest me nearly as much as "Seven Things You Can Do to Make Sure Your Man Will Never Walk Upright Again" or "How to Transform Your Body Into a Walking Skeleton in Just One Hour!".

True, while I've been known to gripe to the complaint department regarding my ridiculous overbite, child-bearing hips and aforementioned mass of curls, I'll admit I have been blessed with mercifully clear skin, even at the height of the adolescent acne epidemic of 1984. So blessed, in fact, that the errant zit is enough to cause panic and disquietude on the level of hearing your new lover fart for the first time and being cool with it.

So rare are zit appearances on my face that I remember the last one quite distinctly, particularly because it happened on one of the worst days in recent American history: Election Day, 2004. That morning, before heading out to the polling booth, I noticed a little pinkish friend had set up camp on my chin. Strange, thought I, fully expecting the unwelcome visitor to be gone the next day.

When he wasn't gone the next day (one I spent sobbing over the outcome of the election and the sad downward spiral America was caught in), I was too overwhelmed with grief for the death of democracy to pay much attention.

But weeks later, a slight trace of The Enduring Blemish of 2004 remained, much to my surprise and chagrin. In retrospect, I can only attribute this bizarre zit-lingering to Bush and the disastrous day in which his worries of re-election ended and the worries of those who fear his missteps increased tenfold. That the uninvited blemish stayed put for so many weeks before finally absconding can only be attributed to my body's outright rejection of another four years of Bush. Thankfully, the feeble zit decided it just didn't have the stamina to stick it out until 2008. One can only hope Bush doesn't either.

Posted by ayelet at March 21, 2006 01:34 PM