Art by Bob AulMy lady and I received a restaurant gift certificate as a present. One nice Saturday morning, we decided to use it. When we got there, we picked a corner of the restaurant that we could have all to ourselves. But halfway through our meal, my wife's jaw dropped, and she turned white. I wanted to turn around, but I knew that would be too obvious. And then you sat in the booth next to ours . . . SKELETINA. What made you so special was the fact that you'd had a face peel the day before. That's right: a face peel. Your mug was bright-red, with a Vaseline shine to it. You looked like Skeletor's wife—hence Skeletina. And you had the nerve to go out in public. What's worse, you chose a place to appear where innocent people might choke on their food. You sat there talking about the procedure and all its related details, as if it was the most natural thing in the world—or perhaps some red badge of your wealth. It was repulsive. I stole glances. I could not help myself. I was sick—sick with morbid curiosity. You were nasty. The truest moment of disgust came when your friend asked about the shower you took that morning. “I bet you forgot to take a cold shower instead of a hot one,” she said. “I bet that steam hurt like hell.” And you shuddered so hard it looked like epilepsy. On that note, my wife threw me a look, and we were out of there. The moral of the story is that if you have a face peel, please stay home. No one wants to see your hideous, ugly, lobster-red, Vaselined, rotting-corpse-like face. Absolutely no one. Especially over eggs.
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