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Having a good or bad day is all relevant

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Having a good or bad day is all relevant

By Kevin Ashby
Sun Advocate Publisher

    There are days when I have to ask myself, “Why did I ever get out of bed?”
    Thank heaven there are not too many of these days. When I do have one of these days, I am pleasantly surprised that it does not take me long to find someone else who has it worse, thus limiting my personal “feel bad for me” pity time.
    The following was written by a niece of mine whose day was definitely worse than mine. In fact, I am not sure exactly what she was doing, and now that I have read it a couple of times, I am sure that I don’t want to know.
    If you are having a lousy day – know that there is someone else out there that is suffering also. Or not.
    Note: I was unable to get a hold of my niece to get her approval, so know that this piece is plagiarized and if anyone from the legal community wants her name and address – I’ll happily give it to them.
How to wake yourself up on a Thursday morning!
I was looking up pictures yesterday for haircut ideas and stumbled on a DIY face mask recipe. After my shower this morning, the two kids were happy and occupied, so I decided to try it. I’m 31, I should probably do mature adult woman things for my skin, right?
    It takes about 2 minutes to apply, and I go check on the kids during the prescribed 15 minute wait time to make sure they are STILL happy and occupied (the 3 year old was raiding candy) when I realize that the internet lies, and after 3 minutes the mask has hardened so much I can barely blink.
    I rush to the bathroom and quickly begin to remove the mask, when I find that every single hair on my face is being removed, too. I grit my teeth and with a mighty heave and a gusty yell, rip off the mask.
    It tears in two, right up the midline.
    After catching my breath and wiping away the tears, I look myself in the eye and decide: this is it – all I have left to do is win the starring role in a gender-bent “Phantom of the Opera”, and my future is made!
    By now the remaining mask is flaking, and there is no way to get a piece large enough to rip off in one last effort. So, I start to peel and rub and nothing moves.
    I’m getting desperate because now the baby is crying, probably from my yelling, so I start scratching and clawing – anything to get this mask off of my naive, internet-trusting face.
    I brush the final remnants off and save the baby from binky-loss. I rinse my face to get the last bits (and my tears) and… my skin is smooth–tender and red–but gloriously smooth. The freaking thing worked!

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