Spots

Spots ©

By

Michael Casey

Spots, now where shall I begin, when I started shaving perhaps, when I was 14, I am part gorilla after all. So I started shaving and made a mess of it, or rather my face. So I had cuts to the right cheek and for balance to my left cheek. So you put a styptic pencil on it and scream, and then pieces of toilet paper, or a strip from the newspaper.

Your face heals and the wounds fade, but the wounds are infected and you get a nice spot full of pus, which is so so tempting. So you squeeze it and decorate the mirrors around the house. The wound just will not heal, so it’s your duty to squeeze it, again and again and again.

It becomes a hobby, squeezing your spots. Eventually the wounds heal and the pus is drained and squeezed out of existence. The mirrors are polished to perfection by mum, pledge and cloth removes everything.

They say that only pubescent boys and girls get spots, this is a lie, to me having a spot is a badge of honour. I AM still young, even if I have reached part two of my life, the descent to the grave part. There is the joy of squeezing the spot, on a par with having an illegal fag in the bike shed.

You have to wait for the spot to be ready to be squeezed, it has to be plump enough, or the experience won’t be as good. You have to have self-control, like waiting for your first kiss, control yourself and the joy will be even greater.

After a day or two of self-control, you cannot resist it any longer, it does not matter if you are at work. You sneak to the bathroom, or the gents as we say over here in England. Then waiting for your moment you lean forward, as you would for your first kiss, but this one is all alone.

You take hold of the spot and squeeze, just at that moment half the office enters the gents, they all laugh and your zit goes all over your best shirt and leaves an almighty stain of pus and blood. Totally humiliation.

Later that afternoon you are giving a presentation, you put your name badge over the stain. The presentation goes well until the badge falls to the ground. So you improvise. You take your shirt off and dab the new cleaning liquid your company is marketing all over the stain.

Cheers and applause, and best of all, all those years of pumping iron and squeezing spots have giving you a look real men would kill for. The ladies in the room are smitten, good job you put a clean vest on that morning.

So the spot is gone, on your face and on your shirt, your spot in the presentation has impressed the client. Spot the difference it has made to your life. Spot on, and on the spot you have a new girlfriend, and yes you’ve guessed it, she is covered in spots.