It's hard to feel sexy with a skank rash on my face

It's not really a skank rash - I mean, I did give a few dozen blow jobs and had the pleasure of burying my face in some delectable female delights over the weekend, but really...it's not a skank rash.

Sometimes when the weather changes I get a little crack at the side of my mouth.  My ego, strong as it is, rebels against this mild mar on my visage with a ferocity that would match that of mama bear defending her young.  I attack.

After a day or so of patience I went after it.  I rubbed it with tinctures, applied coconut oil, tea tree oil, jojoba oil, marula oil, vitamin e oil.  I washed it, put vinegar on it.  I even cleaned it with my own urine.  Gross?  Well, yes I am...and (ahem) I would risk anything to keep my poor sweet image safe and beautifully static.  When it wouldn't disappear (and, in fact, worsened - I have no idea why) I caved and used a topical steroid.  If I can just give it a quick fix, I'll be more attractive.  It's hard to feel sexy when there is a blemish at the corner of my lip.  (And I like to feel sexy).

As part of a gross reaction to steroid cream, the rash began to spread.  I didn't have to do anything except go to NYC to visit friends I had not seen in months.  Naturally, I covered the deformation with foundation.

Yes, it worsened.

Soon the little crack at the corner of my mouth had become a clown-lip, crusty yuck face.  Deep breath. 

I had to go to New York anyway.  I wanted to be beautiful.  I didn't feel it though.  It's unreasonable to feel sexy with a skank rash on my face.

Got to the point where I had to drop back into myself.  I could no longer cover it up - there was no use.  It was painful and fed up.  I wanted to crawl inside somewhere and not come out until I had healed and could again present my crust free smile.

I don't live in New York right now.  I stay with friends.  I could not hide away.  So I reached inside myself and turned it around.

I realized at any moment a change like this (or one far more permanent) could land on my reality.  Who knows, after some exciting sexual escapade I may actually contract a rash.  I may fall on my face, tumble into a patch of poison ivy, collide with a confused goose while on a rollercoaster, breaking my perfect nose (I know how you feel Fabio), I might get into a street fight with a pitbull, get hit by a car (again), piss off a leprosy-curse-casting warlock...

Would that mean I could never feel sexy again?  No!  Even with the stigma attached to a rash around the mouth, even though it's unreasonable, I decided to try, just try, and feel sexy anyway.

Perhaps sexy doesn't need reciprocation.  Perhaps sexy does not need to be validated through a whistle or a pick up line.  Maybe sexy is something felt, not seen.  While it's hard to feel sexy with a skank rash on my face, it is far from impossible. 

I walk down the street, I order coffee, I smile at strangers, I admire attractive men and women, I perform for a crowd, I flirt, I see old friends and pretend like I am radiantly beautiful.  I am full of sexy, it spills from every gesture like a honey waterfall.  Ha!

Sexy, beautiful, attractive, has nothing to do with the measly two dimensions reflected in mirrors.  It cannot be fabricated or reasoned with.  It is felt. 

I still pick at it.  I still worry about it.  I still wish it would go the fuck away.  I still daub at it with topical medicines and think twice after peeing.  That voice keeps whispering lies about how sexy and skank rash can't co-exist.  But when I do feel that way (y'know, sexy), no voice can argue with it.  It is not something seen, it's unreasonable. 

It's Velveteen Rabbit sexy.  All shabby and lumpy and worn and real...but that's another blog.