If I had a dollar for every time I vowed I’d never write another story about pimple popping/blackhead extraction, I’d have a little bit of money but not that much.
Because as much as I understand that some people are enormously put off by images and videos of pus, oil and dead skin cells oozing out of the human body, I… just… can’t… stop.
Last night, I was having a rager on my lounge with my dog when my Dad tagged me on Facebook. ‘Oh, he’s confused again,’ I told myself. ‘Or he’s found one of those corny quotes about family and mistakenly thought it’s a genuine expression of love to share with me.’
But it was neither of those things.