if it quirks..

I am not the only one who finds popping pimples satisfying.

Some people like watching paint slide evenly in glossy ribbons of smooth color to coat a surface and dry in one complete glass-like sheen.  That is satisfying; I’ll give you that.

Some prefer perfect florets of icing precisely blooming on the top of a dozen or more cupcakes like a perfectly cloned meadow.  That is sweet.

But pimples. Ugh. There is something so incredibly and inexplicably satisfying about popping them, about seeing them popped, about feeling the insides extinguish from exhausted skin; I could go on.

I love once it’s out to marvel that such a small bit of nasty caused such havoc on my skin. My skin literally threw a fit and went haywire over this small granular dirt or oil or whatever.

I even like getting pimples out of other people – namely my husband.  He doesn’t understand my fascination.  The problem with him is that his pain threshold is literally 0.  He whines and moans when I have to “use my nails”.  He will wait to let the pimples get nasty, white and raised.  Even then, I have to remind him to take care of them in the shower.  He complains when his pimples bleed after being extracted.

What do I think of that?

Cowardice.

I would like to tell him to get over himself.  I would like to say try bleeding from between your legs once a month and balling up in the fetal position.  Try giving birth.  Try having people bombard you with new products to enhance or un-enhance certain aspects of your body.  But that would be feminist and nagging.  So I hold my tongue.

Back to pimple popping.

It’s amazing.

It’s incredible how wonderful it feels to get that gunk out of your skin.  It’s like a release.  Your skin can breathe again.  You don’t feel dirty or painful pricks when the skin is touched or brushed against.  Pimples are brutally painful if left to themselves.  And they like to spread, which is why I think it’s important to get them out of your skin.

But I think my real satisfaction comes from removing something that is not supposed to be there.  Something that isn’t actually part of me – that is causing pain and malformation.  Also, I just don’t feel clean with pimples.  They gross me out.  Maybe there’s something to analyze here.  I’m sure there’s a therapist out there who would love to psycho-analyze me or anyone else who takes literal joy in removing pimples.

Yes, I actively look for them to remove them.  And oh the pinch can smart, but the squeeze and juicy outpouring of skin garbage is …

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S O  S A T I S F Y I N G