M: E, I need to show you something before I pass out.
E: Will I like it? Is it an eagle? Or a pony?
M: Unlikely. And no, it is neither an eagle nor a pony.
E: Uh oh. Go on.
M: Do you like belly button fluff?
E: NO! I don’t like where this is going.
M: Right. Well, check this out:
E: Eeeeeeeeeew! What in the name of holy hell is THAT?
M: Yeah. That shit came off my FACE.
E: OH GOD.You’ve been back to the diamond hoover, haven’t you?
M: Yup. That, my friend, is the shit that’s been hoovered off my face. Dead skin cells. Makeup residue. Crud. The nice lady gave it to me in a little plastic zip bag to take home, when I asked if I could take a picture of it.
E: Oh GOD. You took your dead skin cells home with you. That’s gross
E: Though, I suppose I am carrying mine around with me too. ON MY FACE.
M: It’s my new pet. I talk to it at night.
“Hey you. How are you doing? Aren’t you much happier in this little plastic bag?”
E: You’ve managed to gross me out. I thought I could withstand any amount of gross. I live with two small boys and a dog. Eh ben, bravo.
M: “My face is so much smoother and cleaner without you”.
E: If I’d known this would happen, I would never have started this stupid blog.
M: “My pores are smaller. My angry monkey face has gone. I don’t really mind going out with no makeup”
E: You’re talking. TO DEAD SKIN CELLS.
M: You saw me recently though. Isn’t my skin much better? ISN’T IT?
E: Yeah. Your skin looks great. Glowy. Fresh. Really really good. It’s your brain I’m worried about.
M: It’s a small price to pay, E, it’s a small price to pay.