Once, when I was in the third grade, we were all sitting on the rug in front of Mrs. Logan as she was teaching us. This one kid named Brian Kendrick (I REALLY hope this blog post comes up the next time a potential employer googles his name...) was sitting there in front of her. He then blurted out, "Mrs. Logan THAT (points) looks like the birthmark on that Soviet's head." Indeed, the purple nailpolish that she had spilled on her nylons uncannily resembled Mikhail Gorbachev's purplish birthmark.
Last night, I had my own Brian Kendrick moment as my husband bent over to kiss me. Perhaps it is all his study of Islam, but the combination on his forehead of scar and blemish perfectly constructed the star and crescent.
I asked his permission before posting acne on the internet, FYI. If you'd like an embarrassing aspect of my present life, ask about how I inadvertently ok'd a fundraiser for foster children to be held at a bar...
I asked his permission before posting acne on the internet, FYI. If you'd like an embarrassing aspect of my present life, ask about how I inadvertently ok'd a fundraiser for foster children to be held at a bar...
