Let’s just call a stinky pile of poo a stinky pile of poo. This is not a pretty miracle. This is a stinky pile of poo.
Yesterday I covered a graduation for the newspaper. It was a beautiful sunny day and I knew that I had everything I needed – a list of the graduates, my camera, my voice recorder.
But there was one question it hadn’t occurred to me to ask: would the graduation be indoors or outdoors? Therein lies the stinky pile of poo.
It was outdoors. I didn’t have a hat, sunblock, parasol, or anything else with me.
My fair Irish skin sat in the sun and broiled for two hours. Right now I am not a happy girl. At all.
Here’s the best I can do in terms of miracles – I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my skin now. But I used to – I used to have terrible skin problems. I used to spend a huge amount of time thinking about my skin. So let’s just call this a charming little reminder of how it used to be and how much better my life is now.
With that, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take this stinky pile of poo off for another vinegar soak, followed by another slathering of Noxzema. I’m going to smell like a mentholated pickle.