Oh, no! It's...The Mask!

My best friend and I have had many a laugh about The Mask.

No, not this one.











Nope....But this might be preferable.











No...but I may send away for this one.







Nuh uh. But you're getting warm.








It's The Mask...of Pregnancy.
(du du du dummmm)

We were sure The Mask of Pregnancy didn't really exist, that it was the Bogie Man of the What to Expect books. Never saw a woman with it, never saw any signs of it on our own pregnant selves, never heard of anyone suffering from it. Never even saw a picture of it.

Til now. I saw it this week..in my mirror. Weep.

Like most everything else tied to my vanity, no one else--my husband, coworkers, cats--can see it on me. But I assure you it's there. It looks and feels like a mild heat rash, a sort of reddish-brown-dotted rawness on my cheeks, a spreading inflammation of my intermittent rosacea. My husband says it's my freckles, and that might be partially true, but it's definitely way more than that. Plus, aren't I at least supposed to get a bit of a tan when I get freckles? No fair.

I'd stopped wearing much make-up (or dying my hair, waxing, or just about everything else) out of pure disinterest and laziness. A sort of "what's the point, I'm fat and living a sex-free existence anyway). It was a welcome weakening of my vanity, perhaps. And as it appears my Stila foundation is no match for it anyway.

And no, I'm not posting a photo so you can either say "Eee gads woman!" or "What mask?"

Instead, I'm going to the Mac store.

My dear friend recently Anita informed me of Mac's progressive, hippie-centric values (no animals, etc) and I'm stoked. Thanks Anita!

No thanks to you, Lyric, mask-making, brain-sucking baby that you are.