I’m loathe to admit it, but the heat in my office occasionally gives rise to a generously proportioned zit on my ass. It’s usually nestled between the cheeks, hidden from view unless one goes looking. More often than not, I give my boyfriend a heads up. I’d rather warn him than deal with his shock should he stumble upon it.
Last week in the shower I noticed a large blue mark on my ass. It wasn’t biologically based, an errant vein or unnoticed bruise. Its hue was closer to neon spandex or an undefined form of chemical waste. It was also water resistant. Whatever its origin, it had no business on my ass.
The next time I saw my boyfriend, I said, “Look at this. What could it be?”
“Huh?” he said. “What could what be?”
Admittedly, the mark was in a difficult spot to view. Risking spinal cord injury, I leaned over, twisted to the right and pulled at my ass flesh. Twist, pull. Twist, pull. “Right there,” I said. “Can you see it now?”
Squinting, my boyfriend moved in. “Wow,” he said. “That’s one hell of a zit.”
“Great,” I sighed. “That’s just great.”
I stood up and took a deep breath. “Don’t freak out,” I told myself. “Everyone gets an ass zit every now and then. Even Nicole Kidman.”
Calmed by the image of Nicole Kidman with an ass boil, I repositioned myself under a stronger lamp. “Here,” I said, pointing to the offending area. “”It’s right here.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Now I see it.”
“What the hell could it be?”
“Huh,” he said, scratching his head. “I don’t know.”
Stymied, we shrugged. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Have you worn anything bright lately? Anything that might have bled?”
Of course, I’d already considered that. More, I’d examined every blue to periwinkle object in my apartment as if I was on CSI. No shade compared to my ass tattoo. “No,” I said. “Not even close.”
Clearly, the answer wasn’t going to present itself just then. We shrugged, turned on the TV and got ready for bed.
This morning I flopped down on the couch with my coffee. I looked once, then again. There it was on the cushion: the residue of a blue M&M. I suddenly recalled falling asleep there while eating candy, just two nights prior. Apparently, a blue M&M has made its way to my ass. Apparently, I’d managed to roll on it.
Do I relish admitting that I molested an M&M in my sleep? I do not. But the stark exposure of my zit? That will dog me forever.