The Girl Who Was Her Own Planet

Okay, I know I have a giant behind and fat thighs, I realize that lately my tummy’s been trying to catch up, but I had no idea I was big enough to qualify as an entire planet. I mean, sheesh, I don’t even have to buy my clothes in the “specialty” section of the department stores. But things must be far worse than I knew, because apparently I’m an entire planet with two separate and distinct hemispheres. Here is my evidence:

Hair: my hair is very big, as well as stubborn and independent. (Hey, it was cool in the 80s when I needed no mousse, gels or sprays to achieve the “in” look; I just stuck my head out the car window for a few minutes and finger-fluffed afterward.) Humidity, the sworn enemy of my hair, makes it even bigger and more unruly. This morning, humidity wreaked havoc upon the left side of my hair and it’s very, very curly. The climate is different on my right hemisphere, where the air is dry enough for me to have normal hair with a few slight waves, the ends curling gently upward. The hair on the left side looks a good 2.5, 3 inches shorter than the other. Although either half taken alone looks okay, together they look as though a schizophrenic stylist bent upon revenge has attacked me.

Allergies (a): whenever I have a horrendous sneezing fit, I never wind up with a 100% stuffy nose. No, only one nostril winds up feeling as though it’s been filled with a quart of spackle. The other is perfectly fine and free-breathing, leading me to conclude that the pollen count (or perhaps the flora and fauna) are different on one side of my face than the other. Whenever I have a runny, drippy nose that requires a plumber, not an antihistamine, it’s only one nostril. The affected nostril varies from day to day, so I think the seasons on Planet Helly change more quickly than Earth.

Allergies (b): on certain days when my nose is cooperative, I know that the pollens have migrated north to the ocular region. A reddened, itchy, watery eye devoid of makeup adorns my face - but only on ONE side. Sometimes the left eye trees are in bloom, other times it's the right hemisphere that’s enjoying spring. With each dual-eye blink, only one contact lens sticks to my eyelid and soars upward, only one lens must be removed and washed six to ten times per hour. The weather on the other side of my face is fine and that eye is happily focusing light onto its serene, content retina. The retina on the other side is bitching away, “I can’t do a damn thing with these images! What’s all this goo lying around? Clean this place UP!” like a mom with a teenager home for the summer.

I must go now as I believe that a small moon has begun to orbit me.

MONTOYA DELENDA EST!