The Revenge of My Conscience

Fate will not allow it. It is unquestionably in poor taste for me to reminisce about my teen (and later lapses) - years as a smoker - and also a fundamentally unhappy person with halitosis and stinky fingers - on my blog about being open about women's health. Not to mention the lying bastards who try to convince children to smoke. So while my tongue was obviously in my cheek, the body rebelled. Two nights ago, a canker sore on my lip, actually a mongo herpes sore, sprouted and was itchy, burning, tingling and bubbling. Fortunately, my dermatologist is also one of my best friends, and it is through her generosity that I received quick treatment. But as many ailments do, the itching and swelling and discomfort returns as the day ends, right in the center of my upper lip. A mere millimeter away from the very spot where a cigarette would dangle. I do not believe that everything happens for a reason; I do not think I believe in signals; but I do believe that my conscience may have slapped a big fat puss-ball on my mouth.