The Case of the Puffy Face
Even before I looked in the mirror, I knew my face was puffy. It might have had something to do with the fact that I could feel my cheeks touching my eyebrows, or maybe that my lips felt like they were the size of eggplants. I knew some women paid good money for lips that looked like mine, but at that moment, I suspected it was probably not a good look for me.
When I finally did take a peak in the mirror, I realized it wasn’t just regular old, “I probably slept on my face” puffy. It was more like, “I look like the Pillsbury Doughboy” puffy. It was clear, something dramatic had happened while I slept. It was like the Tooth Fairy had taken out a hit on me.
“What happened to your face?” said my husband when I emerged from the bathroom.
“What do you mean?” I said, feigning ignorance.
“You’re all, um, puffy.”
“Oh?” I said. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Really?” he said.
“OF COURSE NOT,” I boomed. “How could I not notice that I woke up looking like a popover?”
He backed up slowly out of the bedroom, realizing this was one land mine he did not want to step on.
“Call the doctor,” he shouted from the other room.
I should mention that this wasn’t the first time I’ve had a puffy face. I experienced something similar years ago when I had my kids. When most women get pregnant, their feet swell. For me, it was my face. Of course, this may have had more to do with all the donuts I ate while I was pregnant than the pregnancy itself, but for arguments sake we’ll just say it was pregnancy.
However, I was not pregnant now, and unless, by some miracle of middle age magic, wouldn’t ever be again, so it clearly wasn’t a hormonal thing. I also didn’t recall eating anything the day before that I might have had a reaction to, such as blowfish poison, which could leave you looking like an actual blowfish, assuming you didn’t die first.
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