A Conversation with Myself

I came here to talk to you about my pores, but something more interesting has happened since I sat down in front of the computer. Initially, I was going to tell you that I just caught a glimpse of my enormous pores in the bathroom mirror. I’m hardly ever in front of that mirror in late-morning light, and that’s probably a good thing. In late-morning light, I have astonishingly huge, bloated, gaping pores. This upset me, and I thought “I need to tell the Internet about this.”

But first, I grabbed my precious tube of magical pore shrinking cream. And then it happened. The annoying left side of my brain asked me “Why do you spend your money on this crap?”

“Because it works,” I answered. “It’s miraculous. Like Swiffer.”

“There are no miracles,” said my left brain.

“That makes me sad,” I responded.

“You’re sad because you’re depressed.”

“I’m not depressed. I just need a long vacation during which somebody else makes all my decisions for me.”

“Can’t make decisions? That’s a sign of depression you know.”

Stewpid left brain.