Let Me Tell You About Marv

I've had acne since I was in fourth grade. I've been on every prescription except accutane known to man. I've had some whoppers of pimples before. When I was in 8th grade, I had a pimple the size of a pen cap on my cheek. It was very close to my mouth, and I could feel it straining whenever I smiled. I had managed to make it the whole day with small smiles. It was thirty minutes until school would be let out. Some kid told a joke and I burst out laughing. I could feel the pressure growing until- Boom! It took me to realize from the shocked faces of the students around me that my pimple had exploded. I felt my cheek and my finger was smeared with blood and pus. I immediately grabbed a kleenex and cleaned up the best I could. Apparently, the teacher didn't think my self respect was worth a hallway pass.

From then on, I was forever known as the pimple popping girl. My skin was so oily that if I laid my face on a sheet of paper, a perfect impression of all my pores and skin cells would be left in a greasy imprint. Larger pimples would pop throughout the day, like small volcanoes erupting on my skin. I was teased, ridiculed and insulted. I don't recall most of those years. Everything is black.

When I got to college, my skin cleared up. I was still on medication, but after one last hellraising when I was a sophomore, my skin had retired. It had calmly retreated to the living rooms of my pores where it would only flourish during finals week or certain times in the month. Even then, it was more of an annoyance than disgrace. After we graduated, Ben encouraged me to wean myself off the medicine. He is completely anti drugs. I resisted until I found out long exposures to this strong of medication can hurt fertility and take several years to get out of your system. Since we plan on having kids eventually, I decided it might be a good thing to try.

For three months, my skin has been calm and behaved. Then Marv appeared. Marv is an enormous pimple who appears in an inconvenient place at the most inconvenient time. For instance, Marv would show up on the day of your wedding right between your eyes. Or, Marv would show up on the end of your nose, full of puss and redness, during a job interview. He loves to camp out on your chin for first dates, making that first kiss oh so awkward. After all, if you miss, will Marv explode on your dates face? Marv is not my friend.

The concept of Marv came from my husband. We had been dating a short time, and my skin was horribly broke out. There was a gigantic pimple on the end of my nose. It was a cystic pimple that was simply red and prominent. If you pushed on it, if felt like knives were stabbing you deep in your jawbone. Well, Ben pushed on my nose playfully. I died a little inside.

"OWW! Don't push that!" I snapped, wincing as the pain went deep through my nose.

"It's Marv!" Ben said gleefully.

I glared at him. "Who is Marv?"

"When I was in school, this girl had a huge zit on her face, right where yours was. Everyone was staring at her. So instead of getting embarrassed, she got up and introduced her pimple as Marv. And you have a Marv!" he said happily, pushing it again.

My eyes almost rolled back in my head. "STOP!" I bellowed. "That hurts really bad!" I stared at his smug face for any sign of pimples. He didn't have a single one. So I twisted his nipple instead.

Marv missed my graduation and wedding, much to my relief. He missed my job interview last week. But now he's back, and he's back with a vengeance. I have a job interview tomorrow, and Marv has been residing on my face since Monday, in the middle of my cheek. He is the size of a large pencil eraser. His girlfriend Melv, is a few inches below him and about half his size. Together, it looks like my face has been plastered with pepperoni.

I do not like Marv. I do not like Marv at all. I have been dousing him with prescription drugs, alcohol, soap and everything I could find. I took a stab at him (literally) and spent twenty minutes recovering.

So there he sits, beaming in his red circular glory. Marv, I hate to say it: I hope you die. And if you do die, please die before 9:30 tomorrow morning. Thanks, and don't come again. Don't call us, we'll call you.