27 days until Christmas.

I could very well use this posting to update you on my weekend. I could talk about how my brothers were in town and how my mom set her festive Thanksgiving sweater on fire while trying to pass me the gravy. I could tell you about the blue-hot flames that quickly shot up my mom’s arm and how my dad yelled “Roll, roll!” at my brother beat out the fire. Then I could tell how after all of that, the clearly-flammable sweater had somehow escaped the blaze unscathed, barring the very faint waft of burning you could only smell if you push your nose deep into the knitted folds of that smiling turkey face.

Sure I could tell you about all of that. Or I could wax poetic about how I gave my number to a guy and how he has YET to call me…..or how an old crush tried to hit on me, but was brutally rebuffed. Yes, I could tell you about that too, but you see, I don’t want to talk about any of that right now. No, there is a much, MUCH more pressing issue that I must address right now-and I can no longer hold it in.

Specifically, my new dermatologist is hot. Sweet lord and is he funny. Not only did he seem VERY knowledgeable about skin care during my appointment today-but oh the banter we exchanged:

Him: You know, you don’t have to come in every year if you don’t want to. I can just refill your annual prescription over the phone.

Me: But if I don't come to see you, how will I get these adorable Cetaphil samples!

US: HA HA HA HA HA.

Sigh. It’s about time these zits of mine started coming in handy. God bless my cute new dermatologist.