I've been sleeping with a banana peel on my face. The recent decision has affected both my skin quality and sex life. Rotting fruit doesn't appeal to my wife. Nor does the wart that it conceals.
How the wart sprang into being on my face is uncertain. It was probably the mixture of Dark Magic in Disney's current Frog Prince (don't see it!!!!) and my daughter's left foot. She had a plantar wart, and one playful kick to my face likely caused an outbreak.
When it first appeared, I mistook the wart for a zit. When I could not pop it, but bloodied my cheek in the process, I grew suspicious. The growth metastasized, mimicking cauliflower both in color and texture. Its side effects were vanity and shame.
Then I went into attack mode. Consulting a virtual MD, I found that pouring acid on my wart should kill it. I found some salicylic acid and applied generously. It burned and bubbled, and dried like a swatch of Wite-Out. I hoped no one would notice, but the first Sunday morning I showed up at church like a crudely edited Mary Kay assignment, someone commented: "You have something white on your cheek."
I had to fess up. "I have a wart. On my face." Thereafter, I invested in a box of band-aids.
The holidays ensued. Friends and family avoided my wart-face. In each photo I tried to profile my unsullied, left side. At one meal my brother looked at my wart and said, "I can't eat; that's so gross." I wouldn't have eaten it, either.
After weeks of acid treatment the wart seemed to double its resolve (and girth). I researched other treatments: cosmetic lasers and cryosurgery, Dimethyl ether and liquid nitrogen, and all-purpose duct tape. Only the latter sounded feasible, seeing as I would not spend three to six hundred dollars for vanity (and shame) treatment.
And then I caught wind of a homeopathic remedy: banana peels. Place a cut from the peel over the infected area while you sleep and let natural selection take over. Humans and apes eat bananas; bananas eat warts. And they have.
Unfortunately, I am not out of the jungle yet. Warts dig deep roots. They reach for the smallest crack of light to reemerge. They are like cancer (and can be). They are like weeds. They are like leaven. They are like vanity and shame. They should be treated.