Per request of Darin, I write this post.
Back when I was circa fifteen, I would often visit the B family. These wealthy loggers/realtors owned a vast 40,000 acres which included a gorgeous lake. Swimming, boating, salamander catching, crawdad roasting... a perfect place to channel the stinky and dirty side of life. While enjoying the scenery, of course.
One afternoon, a B son and I canoed around the lake, exploring hidden inlets and apprehending minnows. At one point the bottom of the canoe hit a stump, causing me to jerk forward and lay my hand on my friend's back to steady myself.
The boy winced in pain, shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, and fairly screamed with a nasal "OW! My ACNE!"
This phrase has oozed its way (pardon the pun) into my marriage's vocabulary. Darin often mentions the pubescent trials of "winter backne." I recently reached for my moisturizer only to see "Crackne Medication" written on it.
Has this jest from my past reached its inevitable demise?
No. Pimples will always be funny.