I was admiring my face in the mirror just now when I almost fainted in horror, something I rarely do when staring at my face in the mirror.
There, as bright as a neon bulb, on the very end of my nose is a pimple. A man of 71 years can’t have a pimple anywhere on his body and especially on the tip of his nose. It is a scientific impossibility.
And yet, there it is.
This development has immediately set off a few worrisome moments because when a pimple sprouts at the end of my nose, it means I have to leave to pick up my date in 15 minutes. As a young man, going out with every young woman who would say yes, this was a regular occurrence. My face would be simply gorgeous, splashed as it was with very strong after shave lotion, my Buddy Holly glasses nice and straight. One last check before I headed out to the car and there it would be: A pimple for the record books, white and ready to burst.
What would follow would be some frantic self-surgery with a tissue pressed against my bloody nose as I ran for the car.
This happened before almost every date. But if it didn’t happen, that was almost more ominous because when the date was over and I arrived back home, it would be to find a lovely big golf ball living large on the end of my honker.
In any case, back to now. There it is, a new pimple. So, I will need to leave soon for my date, apparently. But I am getting forgetful and I honestly can’t remember asking anyone out on a date today. If I did, it would be the first time I would have done that in 35 years.
I think I will go ask my wife. She’ll probably know if I’m going out with anyone tonight.
©2022 Jim Hagarty
