My Face??

It was a miracle that I was able to rouse myself from my NyQuil coma to get ready for work today. It took all that I had to get there-- last pay period before Christmas, you know. Well, I would consider it a good day because a) I showered and b) my scrubs matched. So I walked into work and Dr. Dobson, who (Heaven bless her) is INSANE looked at me in shock and said "what's wrong with your face???" The great irony here is that, well, NOTHING was wrong with my face, as far as I knew. Yes, I have had a second teenager-hood with some stress induced breaking out, which I had, ironically, tried to cover up a bit this morning. I wasn't wearing much make-up, which I usually don't do anyway. She said, in HORROR "were you burned? Did you go tanning? You are just so...RED!" So I went to check in the bathroom, and no, much to my chagrin, there was nothing but my usual, rosy cheeked self gazing back at me in the mirror. So, I guess the answer is that what's wrong with my face is that its mine. All mine. I knew I should have stayed in bed with my box of kleenex.