honey please

Well folks, just like that the TexAnn trip is over. Time is such a silly thing, and until someone invents a life remote control where I can click "slo-mo" on all events, I'll just be over here whining about how fast time flies. 

Every time I leave family or family leaves me I feel like I need to write some ginormously juicy and sappy post about how much family means to me, and why everyone needs to have their family. Their people. Their support group. And why everyone needs to hug on and kiss on and sometimes annoy the crap outta those people. 

However I'll spare you all my roller coaster of post-sister visit emotions and stick with something a little less emo (as the 2000's kids called it). 

Sidebar: I will say the highlight of the sister trip may have been when my friend Rachel, Ann, and I harmonized Bitch Better Have My Money, and sang it acapella style for our bartender. We are waiting for our record deal from that exchange. Or at least a free cocktail. Either one will do. 

Anyways, let's talk about something really important. Like really, really important.

Your skin. The skin on your face, to be exact. I've mentioned a few times here recently that my skin look horrendous lately. The phrase pizza face was not created because seeing a pimply face made one crave pizza. I think, in fact, that when you see a face covered in zits, a pizza face, that you want any food other than pizza. This is me warning you not to look at my face anytime soon if you are wanting to eat pizza in the near future. 

My sister has the facial skin of the butt of an angel doll baby. That is as smooth, fresh, and clean as her face looks at all times. I couldn't wait to get her secrets. Spoiler alert: she has no secrets. No, I take that back. Her secret is that her selfless, humble older sister took all the bad genes and left only beauty and grace for her. Insert smirk emoji right HERE. Three or four of 'em. 

Emily, I brought the honey mask!

We have to do the honey mask.

Let's do the honey mask!

These were phrases I heard Ann exclaim several times at the beginning of her trip. I passed it off because A) honey sounds sticky and something I only want on my pb sandwiches, and B) we were too busy exploring to stop and mask it up.

Have you ever gotten a really bad sunburn? And then gotten really excited to peel that really bad sunburn? If you are grossed out by the thought of peeling sunburn then stop reading this blog right here, and also maybe stop being my blog friend because HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE PEELING SUNBURN?! There is something so satisfying about peeling a giant chunk of skin off. Right? Right. Almost as satisfying as watching Medusa peel off her fake eyelashes in The Rescuers, but we can talk about fake eyelashes later.

Back to honey masks. 

Holy. All. Things. That. Are. Glorious. I cannot believe Ann didn't make me do this mask the SECOND we got back from the airport because it is 100% like peeling off sunburn.

And it is 100% satisfying. And 100% fun. And 100% something you should do.

Ann also 100% approved this picture to be on my blog. Not. 

Jury is still out on the magical zit-be-gone powers of it, but I will say that my skin, zits and all, felt almost as smooth as that angel doll baby's butt skin I mentioned earlier. Almost. 

This post is in no way sponsored, but Hey! Hey Honey! It should be! Because I screamed the most exciting screams as I peeled your mask offa my face. Over and out.