For approximately two weeks I have been getting this weird rash thing on my face. It’s called a Butterfly Rash. That sort of name makes it sound like it would be kind of magestic and beautiful. Spoiler alert: it’s the opposite. And then to make matters worse today I started getting it on my hands too. So I went to the doctor and the doctor gave me a cream for it. The problem with that is that when I left my nice management job I also said goodbye to health insurance so the cream cost me $108.09.
So now I am measuring everything I do in life in terms of rash cream. A fancy meal for two at Get Stuffed? That will be one rash cream please! An all inclusive trip to Cuba for a week? 9 rash creams please!
Or we can look at it this way.
As you can probably tell I am slightly bitter about the price of this rash cream. If Boyfriend hadn’t been standing next to me when I found out how much it cost I might have yelled at the pharmacist, for no particular reason other than to just get my feelings out because paying $108.09 for rash cream makes you feel all of the feels.
I brought the stupid cream home and opened up the box to begin my application when I decided to take a peak at the side effects. I’ve taken a little snap for you to see what they are.
Interesting. So the side effects for my red, burning/stinging, hypersensitive, dry, itching, skin irritation happens to be a red, burning/stinging, hypersensitive, dry, itching skin irritation eh? Makes perfect sense to me! Oh and here is a number to call to report these side effects should they occur? Great thanks, except how the hell am I supposed to know if it’s a side effect or the actual problem? You don’t know? Because that’s just stupid? Oh, okay. Good talk.
If it didn’t hurt to cross my fingers I would certainly be crossing my fingers that this fancy schmancy $108.09 cream works for this rash. And not just because it is the price of a mixed breed puppy or a Keurig. Also because at random hours of the night I yell at Boyfriend that my face is dying and then he gets me a wet cloth for it and then I tell him there’s too much water on it and then he says “oh for god sakes” and rings it out and then gives it to me and I spend the night trying to sleep while balancing a sopping wet face cloth on my face. It’s not easy, guys. And to make matters worse now that it is on my hands my hands hurt too much to even make fists. But I love making fists! Don’t go there with that, guys. I expect better from you.
I texted Boyfriend to tell him the upsetting news about the skin on my hands.
Me: Hands are super sore. Can’t make fists. So for instance I can no longer shout angry things to kids standing in my yard and shake my closed fist at them. One of my favourite hobbies.
Boyfriend: Your Clint Eastwood impression is really going to suffer now!
Me: How can I fulfill my lifelong dream of playing disgruntled Korea war veteran Walt Kowalski in the remake of Eastwood’s Gran Torino if I can’t do a good fist shake in the audition? My livelihood has been taken away. You should do a benefit concert for me.
Boyfriend: I’ll see what I can do.
Me: You could call it the Girlfrienifit. Get it?
Look at me, always seeing the humour in my situation even when faced with the cruel reality of skin redness and itchiness. I’m what they would call a trooper.
You’re welcome, Boyfriend. For what you may ask? For letting you put wet face cloths on my face and telling me I look pretty when I look like this:
(not a realistic rash reenactment)
I know it must be so rewarding for you.
Ps. I didn’t actually use the black market to sell off one of my kidneys to pay for the cream. I used a credit card. Basically the same thing.