What’s that white stuff on your nose?
So Better Half and I were sitting next to each other on the couch, where we were in the midst of having a “discussion.”
That word in quotation marks is code for “argument.”
But that’s really not important here, the topic we were agreeing to disagree about, no doubt something wildly unimportant and completely irrelevant.
His comment of distraction during this “discussion,” however, is significant, given it became the basis for today’s column, my inspiration.
“What’s that white stuff on your nose?” Better Half asked out of the blue, taking a break from some verbal sparring with me long enough to stare my way with newfound curiosity.
He asked me this with the tact of a child asking a grown-up something he probably shouldn’t be in polite society.
Now I suppose “normal” people don’t have blobs of white stuff on their noses — I can’t be sure — so I guess I understood his interest.
He took a swipe of it with his index figure, assuming he’d be getting a whiff of Noxema left over from my pre-“discussion” face-washing session.
He was so very wrong.
There was nothing eucalyptus-smelling about it.
Instead, it was minty fresh.
“It’s toothpaste,” I said with acidic authority in “duhhhh” fashion.
“Toothpaste??!!” he said, making one of his classic weird faces.
Better Half wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I assured him there’s no such thing as a good time to have a pimple, not when you’re a teenager engrossed in an ongoing confidence-busting blemish battle, certainly not when you’re a grown woman in your very, very late 50s who assumes the aging process brings some rewards but looks in the mirror one morning with horror to discover there’s an unwelcomed visitor(s), length of stay unclear.
Noooooooooo!!!!! This isn’t supposed to be happening!!!!!
Oh the humanity, as Newman would say on “Seinfeld.”
Whatever might work to make a pimple(s) disappear and go away is worth a try, including toothpaste, I told Better Half.
I don’t know where I read it or where I heard it, but somehow toothpaste is doing double duty. It’s cavity protection and something that’s part of my anti-acne arsenal.
A pimple is as awful as the sound of the word itself but very humbling.
The toothpaste revelation led us to reminiscing about having skin problems in our youth, how they were a given if special occasions were approaching — school pictures, the prom, a date — all of which could lead to a mad dash to purchase over-the-counter products that never really worked, certainly not fast enough.
The father on “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” advocated a spray of Windex could cure most anything. I probably would have tried that had I known such a thing.
I remember investing herculean effort in pimple camouflaging/concealing only to draw more attention to what I was attempting to hide.
Better Half said his mother advocated that eating chocolate was an invitation for face invaders.
That explains a lot, including why I’m stocking up on toothpaste.
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)