We’ve all had blemishes… pimples, zits, whatever. We all pick at them now and then, and sometimes little scabs form. It’s a normal part of the healing process, right?

Well, this is a story about a blemish and the little embarassments life can dish up.

I was sitting in my car taking a break. (I’m working today because Tim’s out of the office and they asked me to come in.) I had a book propped against the steering wheel and was reading, right there in my car next to the Mi-T-Mart on a fine sunny day.

It was pleasant. Traffic vroomed by on Burlington, breezes flowed through the Jeep’s open windows, and I sipped a Starbucks Doubleshot. All was well. I figured I’d finish the page and wander back in to the old jobby-wobby.

Now if you wear glasses, you’ll happen to know that sometimes you have to push them up and rub the bridge of your nose. For some people, it’s because their glasses pinch or are too heavy. In my case, it’s to wipe away some of my skin’s excess oil – my glasses start to slide down when I’m hot and sweaty, which is pretty much always in Iowa’s August weather. (Having oily skin may keep my skin soft to the touch, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be in terms of functionality and keeping my glasses on my damn face.) Everyone you know who wears glasses will occasionally be seen absently swiping the bridge of their nose. It’s a fact of glasses-wearing life.

Anyway, today, in the process of swiping my thumb and finger under the bridge of my glasses, I must have pushed off a miniscule scab.

A tiny, tiny spot started bleeding. Profusely.

I didn’t even notice, so trivial was the event, until I felt something on my face and absently swiped at it while reading. I glanced at my hand: blood! Lots of it!

I quickly took off my glasses with one hand and pulled down the visor with the other to look in the mirror. Holy shit! There’s blood running down my face like water!

I started to look around desperately for something to wipe my face with. I had blood literally pouring down the side of my nose.

In the console? Nothing but cassette tapes! Back seat? Damn, I cleaned my car a few days ago, no fast food napkins or anything! I was trying to keep my finger on the bleeding spot but it was no use, the whole area was a mess. Glovebox? Nothing!

Er, wait. Not true. There was an ancient tampon in there. I don’t use them myself, but I think someone had given me one once or a friend had left one in there, because there it was: a tampon. In my glovebox. Where I usually keep a supply of napkins in case of emergency.

I pulled up the hem of my skirt and tried to clean off my face. Great, a stain on my skirt. Shit! All this from one tiny non-scab?!?! WHAT THE HELL!

To hell with it. I grabbed the ancient tampon – it’s probably been in my glovebox for more than two years – and ripped it out of its wrapper. I was in such a hurry I tried to yank it out of the plastic applicator the wrong way and finally had to stick the plunger thingy back in and push it out! Then I tried to wad it up – so that it didn’t look so much like a tampon, of course – and I used it to wipe off my face. My God, could I be any more in public?

They’re nothing if not absorbent!

After I got the mess pretty much contained on the tampon itself, I spent another five minutes holding the ‘wound’ under pressure until it finally decided to stop bleeding. (The patch of skin in question looks fine now, you can’t even tell it dumped a teaspoon of blood down my face. There isn’t even a red spot!)

Of course, during the time I was waiting for the bleeding to stop, a co-worker pulled up next to me and said hello… and me sitting there holding a bloody tampon to my face!

…isn’t there some law that says I get to go home now?