1/5 of my face is covered in….something itchy. Poison ivy? Who knows! It’s like Pangaea hanging out around my right jaw, and soon it will drift and spread to cover the surface of my head, which will then swell up like an oozing, itchy balloon. I just know it.
As I have lunch plans today, I would like this not to be happening on my face. When I call my mother to tell her this she implies I’m overreacting.
“Remember that time in college,” I say, “when I had that tiny itchy spot by my eye, and by the end of the weekend the entire side of my face had swelled up so badly my eye was swollen shut and you had to take me to the emergency room and the doctor laughed? That’s gonna happen.”
“It’s highly unlikely that’s going to happen, Babe. I think you’re being a bit paranoid.”
“Probably. But at least I know I’m being paranoid and ridiculous. I’m very in touch with it.”
‘You are a close personal friend of your paranoia,” says my mother, “and I love that about you.”