I have decided to accept the offer of dinner. I had one condition, though. The condition was that if any photographs taken would not be shared outside the home without my permission or be sold to the media, and in fact, that they would be handed over to me. Personally, I would prefer not to have any taken of me in the first place.
Taking one last glance in my full-length mirror (with my soul screaming out in anger) to make sure nothing is out of place, and I look "good" (what a crock! When have I ever looked good?). I still do not have my mask upon my face and I cringe at my horrid visage that is exposed. I relish the moments I can go without my mask, as my face can become rather sore, inflamed, and can even become raw if worn too long without fresh air upon my sensitive skin.
My skin, especially on my face, is extremely sensitive and bruises very easily. Not so much for most of the rest of my body, but my hands, and even worse on my face, my skin easily breaks open, cracks, and cuts. When I play, ride, or write, I must wear gloves of some sort or another. My skin on my face is all too thin; stretched taut as a drumhead, and brittle as old parchment.
I choose an exceptionally lifelike, lightweight mask with a sigh that comes from past experience of pain. Hopefully this will not last very long, as for some reason, my skin is very, very sensitive and very easily irritated lately. Ah, well, we shall see…