A cold sore post?? Seriously?

Question: why can't stress manifest itself in beautiful ways, like say for instance, my hair grows three inches overnight, or my skin suddenly becomes the softest it's ever been?

Why, for the LOVE, does it have to rear its ugly head in the form of a cold sore? I mean, speaking of rearing its ugly head!

I look in the mirror and I think of that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding when the crazy aunt is talking about finding the lump on her neck that turned out to be teeth and a spinal column from her never-formed twin. That is what I am living now, only my twin is a giant swollen mass on my lip complete with it's own solar system that makes me look like I got in some random bar fight. Oh, if only that were the real story, 'cause then I would be so much cooler.

When I was a little kid and I would get these socially destructive little afflictions (I've maybe gotten ten in my whole life), I would make up stories to my friends about horrible things that happened to me, like falling off my bike or getting smacked in the face by someone who SPIKED THE TETHERBALL specifically after we (okay, I) had made the NO SPIKING rule. And while we're on that, I happen to think that the rules I made up for tetherball (no roping, no fists, no kicking, NO SPIKING, no throwing) were wonderful and very key to the playing of a harmonious, civilized game. Hmph - no wonder nobody ever wanted to play with me. Mystery solved. Anyway, I'm sure nobody ever believed me, although I was a pretty good liar when I wanted to be, and I did take more than a few nasty tumbles off of my bike. I'm learning, though, that those excuses are just not quite as believable around the office as they are around the playground. At any rate, if this thing doesn't go away soon, I'm going to be divorced and/or fired. Single and destitute, with nothing but my malformed twin to keep me company. Maybe I'll even name it Aaron Neville and it can do a duet with Linda Ronstadt:

"I don't know much,
but I know I['ve got a big pre-cancerous growth on my face]
and that may be-ee-e
all I nee-eed to knoooooow."

* * *

There is a rumor that my sister is planning on putting pictures from the wedding up on her blog. I might provide the link, but I also might shave my head into a bright pink mohawk and go streaking through the offices of my firm's senior partners. Since one of those acts is equally as horrifying to me as the other, I may just let you guys flounder around and find her blog yourselves. That is, if you desire to see a rather round 30 year-old doing her beer-soaked best to make N'Sync fans everywhere cringe. If not, stick with the dreamy illusions you have of me and don't go there. The fact that I am even allowing pictures to be taken is huge, so I'm getting better. It's part of this whole "I'm okay, you're okay - okay, I'm really not okay but I'm working on it, OKAY?!?" thing I'm trying to do. Positive reinforcement, Boonzie style.

At least the pictures are all pre-cold sore, so that helps. A little.