So, here's a revelation. I have vitiligo. It's a skin disorder where you slowly lose your pigment. For me, it's not crazy, crazy bad as I am already pale as ass. Ergo, it doesn't show up too much. Also, I don't have it on my face or obvious areas. And, when not drunk, I rarely lift up my shirt and show people my belly, so people can go for long periods of time without knowing I have the disorder. Then they give me one too many shots of whiskey and are forced to see areas of my body usually kept covered, and well, there you have it. For a long while I was amazingly embarrassed about the disorder, but I am trying to get over that and own up to it. Yes, I have odd white patches. But, I now like to think of it this way, I am a walking talking game of connect the dots. Sexy.
I am finally getting treatment for this. The treatment entails rubbing really strong steroid creams all over my body and then standing real still to let them soak in. I have discovered the hard way that these creams stain things. Like couches. And cats. And walls. I have also discovered that the little warning pamphlet that comes with it holds very true. In it, it tells me that I should avoid alcohol as it can make my face red. Being as I am a virtual hermit these days I was like whatever dude, my cats don't care what color I am and I poured myself a glass of wine. After two sips I am now FLAMING TOMATO RED. So much so that my cats are afraid and are in the other room whispering about how the pigment-less patches were better than then creepy red. I am truly rocking the perfect storm of Not Hot at the moment. Shockingly red face, yoga pants covered in cat hair (and I wonder WHY I'm single) and a Hooters tank top (because the ensemble needed some refinement). It's truly a wonder that then men just aren't lined up at the door baring gifts of diamonds and chocolate. Or at the very least, some powder to help tone down the red.