School’s about to start and I feel like a tightrope walker trying to balance lesson plans with summer futility. This is harder than it looks so don’t judge me. I feel horribly restrained by these opposing forces so I decide to go to the dermo for a new face cream. I have it all justified in my head, if I’m not bothering to spruce up my lessons, I might as well spruce up my face. The students will love my new look and they’ll be nice to me (that’s what teachers really fanaticize about). I take the first available appointment, head to the office, armed with optimistic visions of my soon to be smooth and radiant skin. I am escorted to a sterile waiting room by a robotic receptionist who doesn’t even offer me coffee. There is one chair in the room, a counter with a sink, a stainless stool, and the bed thing covered in wax paper. I chose the chair, seems more dignified. The wall is adorned with an over sized magazine rack, but it is crammed with brochures instead of magazines, which is too bad because I love reading People in the doctor’s office. I realize it is a poor decision but I glance at the brochures anyway. There is detailed images and info on Botox, liposuction, face lifts, laser treatments, blue light specials, lip weaving, and so on. Makes me a little nauseous, now I wish I called Mary Kay, and after a mere thirty-three minutes and some nineteen seconds the door swings open. I practically jump out of my chair as I hastily click off the timer on my iPhone. The doctor strides confidently into the room ignoring the irritation plastered across my face, “Hi I’m Dr. Suture” (Not his real name of course). “Hi, I’m Cheryl” (Which is my real name). “What can I do for you today, Cheryl.” What a question after making me wait thirty-three minutes and nineteen seconds? I want to say, “Pay off my visa, clean out my recycle bin, deal with my linen closet?” But he looks like he is missing the humor gene so I say, “Look, I soaked too long in the tub, and now my face is all puffy and wrinkled. I need a cream.” Without a moment’s hesitation he says, “You have two options, surgery or reincarnation.” “Really, I hope you come back as a proctologist.” I went to Target and bought some hemorrhoid cream that should do the trick.
Photos: http://www.womansday.com/style/beauty/a2080/8-bizarre-beauty-tricks-113032/
How are you dealing with summer’s end?
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Living in the Gap 
My husband, holding a serious expression, all worried, \”Did he really say that?\” He's not ready to fight he's trying to figure out how much this is going to cost him!
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