I’ve been visited by the zit goblin a lot lately. I’ve tried booby-traps – spreading peanut butter on the floor, so that he’ll be stuck and in the morning I can salt him until he shrivels and dies. I tried warding him off with Noxema amulets around my neck and deep-pore-cleaning facial cream jars nailed over the door. Nothing works.
I guess my only recourse is to start eating like a farm girl. You see, zit goblins do not visit our more rural cousins. The smell of pigs and the lack of good independent movies houses do not agree with goblins. Maybe if I alter my diet so I’m only eating dairy and fresh vegetables, the goblins – never the brightest of mythical night visitors – will be fooled. If this doesn’t work, I might be forced to also leave the house and exercise in sunlight like a goddamned field hand. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
I know girls who wait up for the goblin and try to reason with him, but I know better. Goblins don’t understand reason. One girl I know got so frustrated that she began to violently shake the little rat, which caused his sack to spill open all over her legs. She was pure zit from the knees down. I’m not going out like that, I can tell you. Not this girl.