Now, Face Skin, as you may recall, we have a date this weekend. I know that you recall, because we discussed it last night. I believe that last night we also came to an agreement, vis a vis, I will be nice to you, if you will be nice to me. I have been holding up my end of the bargain, Face Skin. Remember that fancy facial cleanser I washed you with this morning? Remember how I took off all of my makeup before bed last night? Remember how I moisturized you and drank plenty of water and ate vegetables? Yeah. I thought so. I have been real nice to you lately. So, that leaves me with just one thing to ask you:

What the actual hell?

Seriously, what the fuck is this shit? I woke up looking like I spent the night face-down in a pizza. Five minutes after I washed my face I looked in the mirror and you had chosen to sprout not one but three – THREE – brand new zits. Big ones, too! Ones that, even if I cover them up, are just going to look like weird, flesh-coloured mountains in the middle of my face. Oh, I’m sorry – is that another one currently forming on my forehead? This is bullshit, Face Skin, and you know it.

Oh, I’m sorry, you want to blame Uterus? Fuck that. Uterus has enough goddamn problems to worry about and you know it. You leave Uterus the hell out of this. This is between you and me. Now. I am giving you ONE DAY to get your shit together, and then I am breaking out the toner. Yeah, you know the one. It smells like pine needles and stings like a motherfucker. You don’t want that, Face Skin. Nobody wants that. So. Clear skin by tomorrow, or it’s no more Mr. Nice Guy. Got it? Good.

Now. Uterus. I know you’ve got a lot going on right now, but you and me have to have a talk too. You know how you’re planning to go full Carrie this Saturday? That schedule’s not going to work for me. So if you really, really want me to pick up the chocolate you put on the shopping list, you’re going to have to work with me…