Even though I’ve never been a serious contender for the Clean And Pristine crown, I like to think that I’m at least two steps above being downright filthy at any given time (extra points for clean underwear!). Sure, I have gone for a whole sweaty week without showering in Alaska, and yes, I do have a tendency to let my leg hairs grow a little bit longer than the average woman from time to time, but overall, I maintain a decent level of hygiene and sanitation, and I was even given a $2000 prize once from the Canadian Sanitation Supply Association for my essay on the heated “Soap Dispensers vs. Bars of Soap” topic (no word of a lie– I was officially sanctioned as the 2001 Western Canadian student authority on soap dispensers in schools! Yet another random factoid about Dana L… but I digress.)

I regret to inform you all that I am downright nasty at the present time. First of all, I am in the height of the West Coast allergy season, so my eyes are puffy, red, and leaking strange fluids all over my face. Oh, how my eyes itch!! (To make matters worse, my acupuncturist– She Who Put Small Needles In My Eyelids And Saved Me From My Allergies Last Year– is in China for another week and a half, meaning I have at least 10 more days of PAIN and SUFFERING before those sweet needles can make everything better. And yes, I will voluntarily have needles stuck into my eyelids this time around. Just make the itching go away!)

Secondly, I happen to have a very disgusting plantar wart on the well-trodden pad of my left foot. It pains me to admit this (on so many levels), but it got to a point recently where I couldn’t even put my left foot down a tiny bit without hobbling around in crippled pain. There was so much pressure built up inside the spot (which has burrowed itself at least halfway up into my foot, possibly even more), I couldn’t lie anymore and say it was probably just a vicious callous. So now everyone knows about it, and my (tactful, discrete) coworkers holler “DANA! HOW’S YOUR WART?” at me when I come to work in the mornings. Great. Just perfect. (But how was I to know that these things got worse before they started getting better? I was just trying to treat the silly thing, which wasn’t even sore or swollen or anything beforehand, and it hardened up into a rock of PAIN and PESTILENCE within a few days, forcing me to disclose its ugly presence to other people. Because, you know, people started to notice when I tried to walk exclusively on the outside edges of my feet. Curses. There goes my reputation as the Woman With The Most Feminine Feet On The Planet. Now I shall be known as the Lady With An STD-Variation On Her Foot. So, so sad. And to make matters even worse, I don’t even know where I got it from! Oh, the shame…)

Anyway, the reason I bring all of this (normally private, thoroughly disgusting) information to your attention is because I have been prescribed the most unusual of treatments for my verucca plantaris (aka the bane of my existence): I have to cover it with duct tape for six days and suffocate the viral life out of it! TAKE THAT, WART! I WILL TAPE YOU TO DEATH!!! (Is there anything duct tape can’t do?) Mercifully, I will not be posting any photos of this process, but I’ll definitely let you know how it goes, just in case any of you are promiscuous and somehow end up with a Social Disease. On your foot. Sigh…. I will never redeem myself. (And there goes my lucrative modelling contract with the Canadian Sanitation Supply Association! Oh, snap!)