Vanity, the quicksand of reason

I recently had cause to remember a funny incident that occurred when I was at school several thousand years ago (before even the youngest London escorts were born, probably!). My friend came in one morning with a bandage around her head, and of course we all rushed to ask what had happened, more out of morbid curiosity than genuine concern I suspect. She explained in her nonchalant, Canadian way that she had a spot, prompting looks of disbelief all round followed by much hilarity. We never really understood why she didn’t just use spot concealing make-up or even a small plaster rather than a whole medical bandage, but her vanity has given us lots of laughs since then, anyway.

The thing that happened recently to remind me of this was my poor buddy getting chicken pox. You probably know that this tends to be more serious in adults, and so we were rightly worried for him at first, as well as relieved to have all suffered with the pox in childhood, thus immune to our friend’s germs. Luckily, although it made him quite sick for a week, he made a full recovery. The only problem was that the face-full of spots that had afflicted him left an unsightly rash of temporary scars.

Not sure why we hadn’t seen him out, or why he was still missing work days after his illness was a thing of the past, we phoned to check he was ok. He explained that he couldn’t leave the house, as the pox had left him too ugly! He was taking more sick leave from work, doing his shopping online and ordering takeaways to avoid being seen in public!

The following day I went to his house with a pizza, to use as a bargaining tool to make him let me in. It worked, although he kept trying to hide his face with his hands. The stupid thing was, the marks had almost completely healed, and he was virtually back to his handsome best! I tried to tell him that he had nothing to worry about, but he explained that he was so well known for his great skin (?!) that he couldn’t bear for people to see him looking less than baby smooth. Obviously I laughed at him and his vanity for a while, until I saw that he was feeling genuinely upset and extremely bored of his self-imposed imprisonment. I promised him I’d send him something to cheer him up the next day.

What I sent him was a busty escort in London, who turned up bouncy and fresh at his house, explaining the agency had sent her. At first he was horrified that this beautiful, blonde escort in London was seeing him at his monstrous worst, until she commented that she’d not even noticed anything wrong with his skin. Thus soothed, he invited the London escort in, and spent the next hour having calamine lotion applied to his still-sore skin by a Nordic Goddess.

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