So, I’ve been struggling with something for a few months now.

Something that’s been weighing on me… heavily.

I…have adult forehead acne.

Dun dun duuuuuuun.

It’s not too terrible, just little bumps that pop up and go away.

But, still.

Anyway, last night before crawling into bed, I slathered some super duper magic pimple paste all across my forehead.

Spoiler: The magic part is that it turns white to signal that it’s working.

DIE PIMPLES DIE!

The less magical part is that it doesn’t actually work.

Yet, I still slather like a motherfucker.

Anyway, like an hour later, my husband walked in the room.

I was sprawled out in bed, watching dumb shit on TV, when he looked at me and said, “You’re looking super sexy, mama!”

And I was all…

Who me?

And he was all…

Yeah, you.

I sat up a little straighter, shoving a pillow under my boobs for lift, and said, “Thanks!”

He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it before anything came out.

About ten minutes later, I got up to pee.

And, that’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I walked back out, wrath written all over my forehead in neon-white, scowly wrinkles.

Hey, asshole, thanks for making fun of me. I thought you were serious.

Him: “Well, I was about to point out the situation on your forehead and then…”

And then you realized you would just go with it because maybe it would get you laid?

Him: “Yep. Pretty much.”

I married a smart man, you guys.

(A smart man who did not get laid.)