Yesterday I bought a new lipstick color (Chanel Tornado, which reassuringly implies that, even in the face of impending natural disaster, I could still look like a Victoria's Secret model)and was eagerly looking forward to wearing it today. I crawled beneath my covers in the cool darkness, smiling with a quiet, knowing, assured grin.

I woke up this morning and felt that something was terribly wrong. My eyes felt swollen and would only half open. Stumbling in a blind panic to the mirror, I toppled back in horror. I looked as if I was a victim of a flesh-eating virus that was slowly consuming my face from within. Above my eyes hovered wads of red skin, my face, already speckled with sun-induced freckles, was now covered in an angry scarlet rash. My hair was standing up as if frightened from my reflection, and I stood shocked for a moment before filling a cup with ice water and soaking two spoons in it until chilled. The spoon, cold and dripping, I placed over my eyes. The swelling went down, thankfully; however, my face (if possible) was now more red. I sighed.

There are times that I wish I was the Man In the Iron Mask.

But, you know, a more attractive version.