Yesterday, I had a first date. Before showering, I discovered a massive blemish growing above my lip.

(One would think that at 45, one would no longer suffer from acne.)

I popped it. Well, I tried. There was not a satisfying explosion on the mirror. It was a sad painful pop that left a bloody bruise like thing.

I pondered what to wear. I planned to wear a conservative maxi skirt with a Wai Ming striped tank top, kind of conservative.

But, with the mass on my face, I changed to a maxi dress with cleavage so he’d have something to look at other than the growth.

Getting dressed, I had a moment like this:

I could not zip my zipper.

I called my neighbor. She met me in the driveway, zipped me and, looking at the zit, said, “It looks like a beauty mark.” We both laughed.