Reptillian Bird of Prey Amazonian Sex Symbol.

My eyelids are scaly and red. The area under my eyes is swollen and puffy. My ring finger is ablaze. My skin is a seething cauldron of contact dermatitis. I have eczema and I'm also occasionally and unpredictably allergic to my eye makeup and/or my wedding ring. I've recently discovered that some people are allergic to white gold because it has nickel in it. Thanks, jeweler. Thanks for talking me out of the platinum.

*Sighs*

Today I wore glasses in order to try and disguise the fact that my eyes are all rough and scaly like an Iguana's protruding eyeballs. I'm not one to leave the house without makeup. I'm not sure why that is. My sister taught me how to put on makeup in the seventh grade. And she taught me how to do it right, so I wouldn't look trashy. She was a good role model.

Here is what she told me. It's not too late for you to get a dose of her big sistering. Just a little bit of blush. A little powder. Lip gloss. Mascara. That's it. I've stuck to that routine almost my entire life. If I feel like getting fancy, I'll add some brown eyeshadow and some eyeliner on the top lid. Though my beauty routine is pretty simple, I never leave the house without makeup. For me, it's like walking out the door in sweatpants.

In other words, I feel it signals to the world that you've completely given up. You just don't care any more. You're not making your bed. You're not using the occasional yet discrete breath mint. You may even pick your nose at red lights. You can disagree with me if you like, that's fine. But if you do, I'll suspect you're wearing tennis shoes with jeans as you read this.

*Shudders*

I'm sitting here with my eyelids on fire and my ring finger itching like I've got a case of the chiggers. No, I have no idea what chiggers are, but they sound downright hellish. I tried to take a picture of my inflamed ring finger for you, but all I can see is my enormous man hand.

My god. My hand is bigger than my head. I know I'm somewhat Amazonian in stature, but this is ridiculous. I'm surprised my husband hasn't pointed out this physical oddity. I mean, that's a lot of hand to let near your junk.

Wait, I'll try to make my hands look more feminine. I mean, I can't have all of you thinking I'm some kind of big-handed freak. Maybe that last shot was just a matter of perspective? Here's my second try:

Great. Now it's a claw. I have the delicate talons of a bird of prey. Horrifying. Hear me shriek as I descend upon your manhood like a bloodthirsty American Eagle, filled with rage and DDT.

Let's try one more time. There's got to be a way to make me look normal for my blog post. I have an image to uphold:

Eff you, itchy finger. Eff you.

I'm sure this post had a point. Maybe it didn't? I thought I might try and do that Bloggy Nani Po Mo post every day thing. I re-wrote the former boss piece that I mentioned the other day in my Blogverboten post so that the person in question is now unrecognizable from any person living or dead. So I'm still thinking about publishing it. My attorney husband advises me that I may do so, especially considering that I no longer work for the alleged person and I've changed any identifying details. While I decide on that, I give you eczema and self-portraiture. Enjoy!