I've got shingles.
On my cheekbone.
At least I think it's on my cheekbone. There's a lot of chub on my face, but if I poke kinda/sorta hard I feel something hard and bony in there and I'm pretty sure it's my cheekbone.
I haven't had shingles in over 20 years.
And, really, it's just as obnoxious as I remember.
One of my friends told me about a holistic type of treatment for shingles, so I'm giving it a try.
The only problem is that it's...
Baby butt paste to be exact.
And I really hate that name.
But I'm applying it diligently to my ridiculous shingle outbreak...
So I guess, really, technically...
I am a butt head.
Or, to be more precise, a butt paste head.
Someday's it's just really weird being me.
PS. Sometime I'll have to tell you about the time I got shingles on my torso and went to a voodoo healing lady for relief. But not today. I can't give away all my stories at once cuz, gosh, then what will I have left to write about in five years or so?