General Non-Fiction posted October 27, 2024 |
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An embarrassing moment I found funny later on
Abreva, anyone?
by Lori Mulligan
I looked in the mirror that morning and blinked twice hoping it would disappear but it didn’t. There it was, erupting like Mount Vesuvius—the most humongous cold sore on my lower lip. No tingling or other warning signs, just a huge mass that I could not conceal.
Of all days for this to happen, it had to be that day, when I had to give an oral presentation at work in front of my boss and about 15 of my coworkers. I decided to really dress up, do my hair and put on makeup as if those things would detract from this tumor-like growth. I convinced myself it was working and tried to arrive at work with my usual confidence and good demeanor.
I took the back elevator and quietly entered my office, slinking past my colleagues. I was just postponing the inevitable, though, as the presentation was taking place in 30 minutes.
To avoid a grand entrance, I made sure I was the first to arrive in the conference room. My colleagues trickled in and filled the table within five minutes. No one said anything, so I started to relax. Ah, the attention I put into my appearance was working, I told myself.
Enter my boss, Barbara, about 5-2’” tall and looking like Senator Barbara Mukulski from Maryland. I bristled because she has a history of having no filter, blurting out the most inappropriate things at the most inappropriate times. She made me nervous on a normal day, let alone on Mouth Boil Day.
As I was psyching myself up for my presentation, she looked around the room before homing in on me with the intensity of an infectious disease doctor examining an “untouchable” from a developing country.
“Holy shit, Lori! What the hell happened to you? I mean I’ve never seen such a big cold sore!” she exclaimed.
If my colleagues had been politely ignoring my cold sore, they now were all staring at me. Patti looked sympathetic, Steve looked horrified, and the rest looked uncomfortable and tried to avoid eye contact. About as easy as ignoring a three-car pile up on the side of the road.
All I could say is, “I’m treating it with Abreva. It should go down in a day or so.”
I wanted to hide under the conference table. Actually, I wanted to re-enter my mother’s womb and start my life over again, but the table seemed more feasible.
Even worse, I still had to stand up in front of everyone and give my presentation. I don’t know if God looked down on me with mercy, but after a shaky start, I totally nailed the presentation about radiological/nuclear medical countermeasures. I fielded questions with ease and acted like nothing was wrong with me, like my face wasn’t sporting its own nuclear explosion.
As I was walking out of the conference room, my friend Patti came up and congratulated me on giving a great presentation, especially in light of the comments from Barbara, the proverbial bull in a china shop.
When I got home, I replayed Barbara’s comments over and over again. I felt like my thoughts were on tumble dry and the spinning would never stop.
But then I eventually fell asleep and when I woke up I decided to shift my mindset and focus on how I aced the presentation. As a result of this shift, I found forgiveness for Barbara. I mean, it’s Barbara; did I really expect anything different?
Despite this newfound confidence, I grabbed my purse and headed to the pharmacy. Abreva, anyone?





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