I've been getting headaches lately, which is a new, weird physical experience. I did have a migraine one time, when I was pregnant, but that didn't feel like a regular headache. That felt more like someone filled the space inside my skull with the ball-pit at Chuck E Cheese's. Even my hangovers lack headaches. Sure, I've been known to barf-out my guts into the kitchen sink. BUT WHO HASN'T?
And since I don't get headaches, I'm left begging off sex with weak excuses like, "Not tonight honey, I have a dry scalp."
However, it's not like I don't have my share of physical discomforts. I've spent most of my life bloated and constipated, with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I know my way around enemas and suppositories, and I can take on the meanest of hemorrhoids.
I blame these recent headaches on my allergies. I lay full blame square on seasonal allergy's shoulders and the ponytail I wear everyday since my hair's at that awkward shoulder length. Although, I have seasonal allergies every year, this year is different. This year, my allergies are kicking ass and taking names. All the allergy mucus in my sinuses has hardened into a solid chunk and is pushing on my brain.
So last night I'm lying in bed, and telling Ben about my mucus in explicit detail when I reached over to grab a tissue, and my fingers grazed my boob. And I'm all…What is that on my boob…a raison…a chewed-up piece of jelly bean? [Heidi and Whitney watch cartoons in our bed so any of those scenarios are possible.] And, this thing on my boob really hurts!
In case it's some kind of flesh eating disease, I make Ben take a look.
"Look! Look at my boob!" So he does. Of course he does.
He looks at it for a moment and then diagnosis it as one big ugly zit. As in, "Calm down you have a pimple."
And now, I know that some of my recent posts are starting to resemble a medical journal, but I can't help it! My skin looks like it should be studied in medical school!
So, here Ben and I are together, naked in bed, after nearly fourteen years of marriage. Me, narrating the story of my mucus. Ben, checking out the zit on the underside of my boobie. My brain feels like it's vibrating, and I'm worried I might die from a flesh eating disease.
All I can say to my male readers is: Sorry, guys, I'm taken!
