Say Hello To My Little Friend
My morning began today as it typically does; violently
engaging the snooze button with a semi-clenched fist, followed by the typical
thought of “fuck me” and the subsequent realization that another day in my
otherwise trivial existence is beginning. As I lurch out of bed and stagger to
the bathroom, I’m not immediately aware that my typical unforgettable Tuesday
is about to get shittier. I step over the period blood that my roommate left on
the floor in front of the toilet, get the shower running, disrobe and look in
the mirror just long enough to confirm my own disgust at my physical
appearance. I make it through hair washing before I reach for my generic
branded face wash (I shower from top down). After applying a small dab of face
cream it is mere seconds later that I realize my lip feels funny to the touch.
Then I notice the tingling sensation as the water flows down my face. That
feeling is unmistakable. There’s something brewing, not quite visible yet, like
an active volcano just starting to stir but I know what’s coming. I’m getting a
cold sore. For the second time in 5 minutes I have a clear and distinct
thought; fuck me.
The race to subdue a potential run-away cold sore is like
the nuclear arms race. The end goal is to overcome your adversary and hopefully
avoid a Bay of Pigs strength blistery crater on your mouth. I immediately apply
my Abreva when I get out of the shower. I’m not sure what is in Abreva but I’m
pretty sure it’s a made up medicine which makes me think charging $20 for a
tiny tube of lip cream is a business I need to pursue. I just don’t know if my
current financial situation can get me through the 7 year drug trial period.
The last 7 year drug period I went through certainly didn’t end in economic
windfall.
My relationship with cold sores is long. I can’t even tell
you how long I’ve been getting them. The reason they are so annoying is the
social implications of having them. I’m an expert at reserving judgment against
myself. However, I generally like to try to maintain an outward appearance of a
reasonable person. That is to say, when I walk down the street, I’d like to
think people don’t immediate finger me for who I am. The cold sore changes
that. All of a sudden, my face is the lighthouse and the lunar mountain on my
face is the beacon, signaling to others what I already know; I’m a piece of
shit. Instantly, it’s like they know that I’ve spent too little time with
wholesome women and too much time arguing whether anal was implied in the
initial negotiation.
I don’t understand why this is. Well, actually I do. It’s
because a cold sore is an infection by the herpes simplex virus and you can’t
say herpes without thinking two things; 1. The person who has it is gross and
2. How great the MTV Valtrex commercials from the 90s were. Every time my
little friend pops up on my upper lip (why it’s always the upper lip is another
question all to itself) I immediately walk around with the expression a dog has
after an accident on the living room floor. I feel like an outcast. The
judgment from others radiates through me, I keep my head down to disguise my
disease and I retreat into anti-social behavior until it’s over. I suppose
having a cold sore is sort of like being emo.
I hope one day I’ll be able to look past my insecurity when
my friend shows up. I hope that I won’t assume that I’m being called “herpes
face” around the water cooler. I hope that people will know the real truth
about cold sores; 80% of people have the virus. To put it in perspective only
30% of people in the US have college degrees. However, I’m positive 100% of
college graduates have the virus. Of course, this is wishful thinking because I
know as soon as that first tingling appears; I’m in for a week or two of
agonizing embarrassment and insecurity. Maybe one day there will be a medicine
that works in a few hours. But for now, we’ll have to rely on preventative
care. So remember, before you eat that ham sandwich, make sure to wash your
hands.
No comments:
Post a Comment