Zits are gross. Never in my dreams had I ever imagined that, just over two dozen months shy of thirty, I'd still be dealing with them. I had always thought that they're supposed to be for pubescent teenagers brimming over with hormones. I think my hormones are pretty stable by now--thank you for asking--I just suffer from clogged pores. As I brushed my teeth tonight before bed, I glanced up at the mirror to see a whitish blob sitting precisely centred underneath my right nostril. Hoping that it was just a booger temporarily suspended below the opening whence it dropped, I gave it a little budge. It didn't move a millimetre; to my dismay, it was all whitehead and no booger. I then thought about it some: How long has it looked like that? Did people at work think that I had been picking my nose and had left evidence of it? Were they disgusted but too polite to mention it? I suppose in the long run, it won't matter. Coworkers will have forgotten about it long before me, and I don't plan on dwelling on this embarrassment much longer. Of course, if it's still there in the morning, I'm might give it a thought or two more but I'd much rather it give up its perch before then.