I came home from school today and was standing with Self in the bathroom. The two of us were examining our pores while washing our hands. Just the usual afternoon routine.
Self: Hey. What’s that on your face?
Me: [glancing up quickly to look at reflection in the mirror] What?
Self: Right there. On your cheek.
Me: [examining closer] Nothing.
Self: No really. What is it?
Me: I don’t see anything.
Self: You can’t see that zit?
Me: It’s not a zit!
Self: Yes it is. It’s right there next to your mouth.
Me: That? It’s a bug bite. Or something.
Self: Riiiight. Bug bite.
Me: What?! I was just on an island or nature reserve or something for a couple days. It’s a bug bite. Could be.
Self: [under her breath] Looks like a zit to me.
Me: [under her breath] It’s not a zit.
Self: Excuse me?
Me: I said, ‘It’s not a zit,’ so would you kindly shut up.
Self: You’re almost thirty, right?
Me: I said shut up.
Self: I’m just saying. You’re almost thirty and you still get zits?
Me: Seriously. Shut. Up.
Self: Like, I’m not sure that’s even normal.
Me: I swear to God. If you don’t cut this shit out I will punch you in your perfectly acne-free face.
Self: I’m just saying is all. God you have to get so bitchy sometimes.
Me: Listen. I don’t pick on you, so quick picking on me.
Self: Right. You don’t pick on me. Listen, I know what you do on your blog and you never, ever say anything nice about me. All you do is pick on me!
Me: Oh for crying out loud, this again? Always the victim! Would you stop complaining about my blog?
Self: I’m just saying. The whole world knows about me because of your blog. I don’t have a blog to talk all about your socially awkward behavior. It’s not like I’m telling the whole world you’ve got a zit on your face. All I’m doing is giving you a head’s up about a clogged pore–one on one–just in case you need to make a public appearance somewhere, because you and your blog are so famous, so you don’t end up looking like you’re still going through puberty. Put some toothpaste on that mother and dry it up.
Me: Puberty? Thank God I’ve made it that far! Aren’t you the one who still sleeps with her Care Bear?
Self: Don’t bring that up again.
Me: I’m just saying, is all. Just saying.
Self: Yeah? Well stop.
Me: You stop.
Self: I did.
Me: Fine. So did I.
Me: Hand me that hairbrush, would you?
Self: As soon as you take care of that colony of bacteria invading your pores.
Me: Dude. Seriously.
Self: Just saying.