O the ink ain’t on my dresses
Or caught up in my tresses
It’s all over my face, o can’t you see
I thought I wiped it off now
But it stayed on anyhow
So when folks mention Ink Face that is me
Just call me Ink Face. That might be my new nickname.
I had the unfortunate pleasure of wearing ink all over my face
recently. I don’t know when or how the ink got on my face. What I do
know is it was there, and it was a lot.
Sometimes if I pause when writing, I’ll turn my pen up and
inadvertently mark up my face. It’s usually a line here or there.
Most times I catch it, but such was not the case Monday night.
I had been writing a lot of information down. When I finished, I went
to talk to some people.
While talking to someone, I noticed out the corner of my eye a man
wiping his face and looking at me.
At first I merely thought he was awestruck by my beauty. Then I
realized he was trying to tell me something was on my face.
Immediately I thought he meant boogers. If only that was the case.
He finally said, “You have ink on your face.”
Well silly me thought a simple wipe here or there would remove it. I
didn’t even make a dent.
After my quick wipe, I continued my conversation and talked to several
other people.
It wasn’t until after I left the crowd, went to the bathroom and
looked in the mirror I saw the extent of the ink on my face. It looked
like a big glob of ink snot was coming out of my nose!
Why didn’t anyone tell me just how bad it was?
They all kept talking to me politely and never even mentioned it. I
can’t be mad though. I probably wouldn’t have said anything either.
I’ve seen men with their zippers down, women with lipstick on their
teeth and cracks showing when people bend other. I don’t say a word.
It’s not because I’m mean and want them to be embarrassed. I just
don’t know how to say it without causing unnecessary embarrassment.
“They’ll figure it out,” I think. So mum’s the word
However, after being the one in an embarrassing situation, I’m not so
sure that’s the best logic anymore.
There might be some embarrassment, but it’ll pass. Embarrassment after
the fact is 10 times worse.
Hopefully everyone forgets my ink ordeal. If not, well I’m worried all
the people I talked to are going to call me Ink Face.
I for one will not stand for it. I am packing up and moving to Alaska.
OK that’s a bit extreme.
I’ll just use pencils from now on. The worst I can do with a pencil is
poke myself. I’d rather sport a Spiderman Band-Aid anyway.
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