I’m in full blown “sick mode” today. That means my hair is scraped back into a ponytail, coke bottle glasses, and an extra large sweatshirt to top it all off. I recently took a trip to farmland Fresno, and came back with a poison oak-esque allergic reaction — on my face! I am not a happy camper.

I’ve been told I’m vain. Usually these half-joking comments follow my story of visiting a plastic surgeon. Not that I’ve actually had plastic surgery; I’m definately not against it and I have utilized the services of one once or twice. Dictionary.com’s definition of vain is: excessively proud of or concerned about one’s own appearance, qualities, achievements, etc.; conceited. As much as I like to walk to the beat of my own drum and steer a little bit left of center, I realize that society has norms that I can’t ignore. At the tender age of 6 months, I got a bad case of baby acne. Who would have thought that exists?!? My parents freaked out because they knew that being a girl meant that I’d have to be pretty to really excel in society. It’s generally the first question mom’s ask when they hear their darling baby boy has a new girlfriend, “Is she pretty?” Don’t lie. You know it’s true. It’s cause they secretly want cute grandchildren. Thankfully, the only scars I have of my baby acne is a smattering of larger than normal pores across my cheeks — looks a bit like freckles.

I know I’ve written that appearance isn’t everything. It’s true, I still stand by it. But just as I’m not going to walk into an interview with a Brittney Spears (pre Federline) crop top, I’m going to spare the rest of society seeing me at the height of this allergic reaction. Gimme a week or so and I’ll be back — better than new!