Getting lippy

Every year, about this time, my lips go through a process. A “getting used to the dry heater air hitting me all about the face” phase. It’s how I know the beginnings of November have arrived, nevermind the superfluous amount of leftover Twix all over the house that I always buy knowing full well we will not have enough trick-or-treaters to merit such a purchase.

No, it’s my lips that signal a change in month and season is afoot.

In this month long process, first there is an all around chappiness that no soothing balm or nectar can cure. Then there’s general agitation, soon followed by a sloughing of the lips. With the lips now rid of old skin, an irritation takes hold that could rival Carrot Top or The Song That Never Ends. On top of this irritation, there is an undisturbed stinging sensation with of course the complimentary redness that spreads far beyond the normal layout of the lips. This in turn leads to small, minuscule new lip growth surrounding the lip perimeter, trying ever so valiantly to take hold, but ultimately resulting in pain and cursing if anything were to touch or disturb its efforts. It goes without saying that salt is the enemy of enemies at this point.

And this is when I have to remind myself that it is always darkest before the dawn.

For just when I think I can never kiss again, I wake up one day, drink a glass of orange juice, then lick my lips without thinking. But just as I’m about to scream in anticipated pain I realize that there is none. My lips have returned unto me, out of the ashes of the fire.

Seeing as how November has just begun, I am still in the all about chappiness stage, with much tediousness before me, so I’m eating all the potato chips I can before the thought of such an action seems pure insanity. Yes indeed, there are greasy fingerprints all over the house.

P.S. My lips are telling me it's time to change the clocks! Don't forget! Courtesy of My Lips.