My skin has had it up to here with Korean detergent.
“No fantasies of skipping through lavender fields for you, instead you get an angry spreading rash,” it told me on Monday.
“Oh yeah, and your eyes will swell up until someone remarks that you look a little bit Asian on Skype’s low resolution,” it added on Tuesday.
I’ve just about had it up to there with my skin. The lovely lacing look of the rash is not sufficiently pretty enough to put on display with a low-cut shirt (which, despite the tendency for Korean women to show off their legs, is culturally unacceptable anyway), and while I appreciate the loss of the dark and slightly sunken bags under my eyes to swelling, it’s not a good look overall.
Another week, another doctor. No hot water. No scrubbing. Moisturizer four times a day. Face steroid cream. Body predinizone cream. Also take these seven pills twice a day. Allergy shot. When? Right now.
The dermatologist kicked me out of his small office and I walked back to the front desk. An assistant spoke to me in Korean, saw my look of abject confusion, and gestured for me to follow her. She babbled in Korean, smiling widely, and took out a syringe. She pointed to it, and then poked herself in the butt to show where the shot would go.
I hadn’t had a shot in the butt since I was seven, and my monthly bout of Strep Throat was threatening my presentation at the science fair. I bent over the examining table, and the nurse pulled just the top of my pants down.
Really hard slaps, right on my butt. In surprise, I must have clenched my muscles up a little. Our massive language barrier meant that she could not have warned me about that, or maybe she did and I just had no idea what she said. She hesitated.
Slap! Slap! Stab. Slap! Slap!
I barely felt the needle, since the slaps stung just as much. Smart technique, albeit unconventional.
11,500 won ($11) and I was on my merry way. Oh, Korea. You crack me up.