Post #245

Michael has acne. Hopefully, he'll never know I announced it online. I had acne, too. I still do, in fact, but I'd say the war ended with armistice in my 20's, and the treaty is only broken now by guerrilla skirmishes or the solo fighter who just attacks my nose, for example. I wake up and there's a zit, a pimple; there is no charming word for it. Blemish? A little better but inadequate if it's Vesuvius and throbbing, and – like Michael will deal with soon – calling in reinforcements. Breakouts are never timely, and in youth the war is multi-front and the battlefields vast, raging over entire cheeks, temples, and forehead. My forehead is massive, and Michael is similarly blessed. We will marshal our allies for Michael, the various, over-marketed soaps, cleansers, washes, astringents, strips, swabs, cover-ups, and creams. It's really nothing to joke about. I even saw a dermatologist as a teenager. Some of my friends did the same. It's life, and what is life without uncomfortable humor. Ill-advised and documented. And the best joke of all... our family acne is not from steroids. I know, surprising; our killer physiques are natural. Papa Mike's first and foremost. Truthfully, Michael will settle into a sturdier build than is showcased in his paternal lineage (I'm visualizing at least four generations). No bird legs for Michael. Lucky guy. Maybe he'll escape the lovely follicle recession I'm enjoying, also. Otherwise, the family forehead only gets bigger, another fine feature he can thank his genetics for.

I decided to get Michael a cell phone. Now I pay 40-some bucks a month for a device that is often uncharged or switched off when I call it. It's an expensive paperweight. I said to Megan yesterday, "Please gently remind Michael to keep his phone on." Without hesitation, Megan said, "Do I have to be gentle?" We both laughed. When she's funny and smiley, I love her a little more than usual, which, of course, is impossible.