Crackin' a Mariah Carey

I'm pushing forty, yet currently have a zit on the side of my neck that's so big I'm having difficulty holding my head up.










In fact, it's now larger than my head itself. It apparently started life as a blind pimple but has now morphed into a sideways volcano that keeps threatening to erupt, only to subside and decide to throb painfully underneath my angry red, stretched skin instead. Seeing as I'm whiter than the in-bred arse cheeks of an Orkney Island dweller, the gigantic goitre stands out like a flaming red emergency beacon, calling attention to all who stand before it.

At least if I was a teenager it would be par for the course and no doubt surrounded by a cluster of smaller zits to keep it company; kind of like an acne harem. At 39, it is like an eternity ring - one huge, solitary diamond, flashing brighter than any gem. I can only blame myself: too many hours tapping away in front of a computer screen means that a great deal of time is spent in deep thought (or waiting for Perez's next image to download), side of face in my hands, absent-mindedly scratching and picking away. What might have just been a tiny dot has, under my regular fiddle-age, become a fully-fledged growth that a bus could wear on Red Nose day.

Perhaps Mariah Carey has something in her fetish to only be photographed from one side of her face. Trying this in real life, however, is rather difficult. For starters, both my husband Love Chunks and my daughter Sapphire have a need to inform me of any unusual disfigurement upon my person, just in case I didn't know:
"Hey Kath, you've got a bugger of a blemish on your neck there. It looks bloody painful."
Thank you, dearest, I wouldn't have figured out that a parasitic pustule the size of Pluto is clearly bent on setting up an entirely new colony on my neck without your capable help.
"Ewwww Mum, what's that on your neck - it's gross."
Yes, it is, sweetie. Yes, it is a pimple; just a bit bigger than normal. What's that--? Yes, you're right, it's as big as Ben's basketball, thanks for the creative comparison.

This morning I sidled up to the school gates like a nervous crab, keeping the offending ooze ornament away from the car park and footpath area where happy children and carefree parents were approaching. Unfortunately, when coupled with the sheer weight of the thing, I found myself staggering left, head bent sideways like a shy Lady Di dodging the papps before meeting up with her Prince at the palace. Momentum can be a dangerous thing.

As I emerged, shame-faced from the wattle bush, even my aqua-coloured Crocs and hot pink 'Nookie - Just Done It' t-shirt failed to deflect the onlookers' attention from what looked like the pointy end of an arrow emerging from my neck.

"So Kath, are you going to be around to help out at Sports Day tomorrow," asked Jane, eyes transfixed by the zit.
"Er no, I've actually got this meeting about a presentation that they've asked me to---" I didn't bother finishing the sentence. It was obvious that she was standing there in shock and awe at Mt Vesuvius.
"Hey Kath, can Sapphire come over to Mandy's place for a play after school?"
I turned around to smile at Mike. "Yeah, that'd be nice. She'd really like---"
Hmm. Mike was staring deep, deep down into the mouth of the volcano.

So much for worrying about him talking to my breasts instead.