“Stop!” Tracey yelled, coming into the kids’ bedroom. “What are you doing?”
What I was doing was standing in front of the mirror with Miss11 explaining one of the funnest things about her impending adolescence.
“Guess what?” I said to my wife, even though her outburst clearly indicated she already knew what was going on. I pointed at Miss11’s face. “She’s got her first zit.”
“I know,” said Tracey with that smile she keeps for me: the partly manic one that seems to say, ‘You’re such an idiot’. “So we have to teach her the correct way to look after them.”
“All over it,” I grinned.
“Yeah, Dad already told me that,” said Miss11.
“Oh, yes?” said Tracey, her face indicating for our daughter to go on and hinting that perhaps I should step closer to the exit.
Miss11 then recited what I’d just told her.
“If they won’t explode easily you should apply a hot facecloth to open the pores,” she said, quoting me almost verbatim, “before squeezing the hell out of them.”
Tracey, less so.
“You do not squeeze pimples,” she told Miss11. I noted she’d stepped between us as a sort of physical barrier to keep me and my stupid ideas away from her daughter. “They can get infected. You might even cause scarring on your face. Squeezing is the worst thing you can do.” She looked back at me. “Plus, you can tell you don’t clean the mirrors.”
“It’s worth a bit of mess for that sweet release,” I told our daughter, craning my neck to see her over Tracey’s fast approaching frame. “If you get a really good one they even make a popping sound.”
“Out,” said Tracey, indicating the doorway.
“Yeah, Dad,” Miss11 shot at my back. “I don’t want scars.”
I’m thinking she’s in the wrong family for that.
If you enjoyed this post please share, like or comment.
It really does make a difference Thanks.
“Raising a family on little more than laughs”