Last year I went on a holiday.
I was, as you could imagine, pretty excited. It was early July and Australia was cold and wet. I was headed to Europe for the first time. And there, it was summer.
Now, when I’m travelling, my skin either rejoices and glows in a manner not dissimilar to a pregnant lady …or it decides to lose its shit.
I don’t know whether its karmic punishment for never taking my makeup off at night (who can be bothered, really) or the Skin Gods trying to make sure a flawless complexion won’t leave me incredibly vain and shallow (mission accomplished), but this time around my skin was forced into crisis mode.
What happened? I had a pimple. It was small and just below my nose and I just couldn’t help myself, so I popped it.
Hey, at least I didn’t take six minutes to pop it like this girl… Post continues below.
I know, I know. My mother taught me better. But instead of scabbing and eventually healing as popped pimples tend to do, I ended up with a staph infection. On. My. Face.
My skin, which is normally Very Well Behaved, had turned on me, leaving me looking like a burn victim. The official party line, in fact, was that a flaming Sambucca shot had lit my face on fire, which turned out to be both an impressive story and brilliant ice breaker.