“Mom, my zit hurts so bad!” My 12-year-old exclaimed. He comes closer to me, into the light.
“Dear God! How do you not pop that thing? Jesus!” I yelp, upon seeing a large pussy zit on my son’s head.
We were all in the kitchen putting away groceries while this was going on. His zit is massive. It’s at the top left of his forehead, right at his hairline. I can’t be certain but I think I saw a pulse. I remember zits like that and they were easy. My son is treating this thing like I’m asking him to squeeze puss out of an infected wound. Sorry, too much?
“P, just pop it. You’ll feel so much better.” My husband chimes in.
“Look, if you don’t pop that thing, it better not spray out over our tacos. K?” I add.
“Mom! That’s gross.” He protests.
“I’m just sayin….”
My son and I sit at the table after dinner and chat for a few. I can’t help but have my eyes creep up to his zit. It’s looking at me.
“Mom, quit looking at it!”
“I can’t help it! It’s like you have a third eye. I don’t know which one to look at,” I say as if I’m facing someone who has the one eyeball that veers off into the distance and your like, which eyeball do I look at?
“You don’t understand!” He protests.
“Yeah, your mom and I totally don’t understand,” my husband responds sarcastically.
“I get zits on my wrinkles for cryin’ out loud!” I say dramatically. “Maybe we should name it! You know, like the lump I have at the back of my head. How about we name it Bubbles.”
“That’s obnoxious.” P says.
“Your right. We need a normal name for it. How about Mark?”
“But is it a girl?” My 8-year-old asks.
“That’s a great question C. P. Is your zit a girl or a boy?”
“I don’t know,” he says, thoroughly annoyed with all of the attention.
“Well then it’s probably best we choose a name that is gender neutral. Hmmm….”
“How about Pat?” My husband asks.
“Yeah, there we go,” I say thinking that name is completely over used and stupid.
“We are not naming my stupid zit!” P explodes.
“Ok…ok……how about tambourine?”