Ode to My T-Zone

After quite a bit of contemplation, I decided that the T-zone is the most important part of my body.
If you haven’ t wasted enough time reading the Beauty Sections of Women’s Magazines, which 'zonify' the body as if you were a corpse in an anatomy class, you may not be familiar with the term T-zone.
For the convenience of such mortals, here is the meaning of T-zone:
‘If you were to draw a line through your forehead, nose, and chin, it would look like the letter "T" — hence, the commonly used beauty term, the T-Zone’.

If you ask me, I do not support such ‘zonification’. If I drew a T-shaped line through any other part of my body (for example, a line from one shoulder to the other, and a middle line stretching to the belly), even that would look like a ‘T’, wouldn’t it? So why follow such logic? Moreover, this whole concept of likening body parts to the characters in the alphabet system is quite obscene (characters like V and O are not things we want to talk about much).
Anyway, such ancient concepts cannot be changed by ludicrous bloggers. So I will not challenge it. Now that we are all in the same boat (sorry, zone), let me explain why I glorify my T-zone.

Well, firstly, I believe in glorifying the enemy. My migraines are my greatest enemies. They originate in my forehead and spread through the other zones of my head, my neck, my shoulder, my mood and consequently my husband’s head and mood.

The T-zone provides support to my spectacles. Now, my spectacles are the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me. Best because, I could still see if my sister was keeping the bigger piece of chocolate for herself. Worst because I could also see what the mad Physics teacher wrote on the blackboard, which I was supposed to copy on my notebook. So I give credit to my T-zone for turning me to a visionary (Oh! Can’t I use the word ‘visionary’ for one who has vision? Can’t I? Who says so?).

My T-zone is also a very seasonal in nature. It oils in summer and flakes in winter. Isn’t that helpful? I have never watched the weather forecast since I discovered this.

The T-zone also hosts the nose. My nose isn’t quite pretty. But I don’t mind it. It bears the scar of a wound that I picked up when I fell down on a terrace in Puri, while trying to chase a cousin who stole my chewing gum (un-chewed one). I still hate that cousin and the scar reminds me of my heroic chase… my ONLY attempt at heroism.

My mouth also falls in the T-zone. Needless to say, my mouth helps me a lot. It talks, tastes and breathes for me when my nose is blocked. In short, it does all that I need to survive…talk, taste and breathe.

As for my chin, people say, my granny gave it to me. That’s a feature I inherited from her (I wouldn’t have, if I had a choice). It’s longer than necessary, making me a victim of chin-pulling aunts and uncles all my childhood. Nevertheless, it reminds me of my granny, who was the last sane person in my family.

So there you go…my T-zone reigns as the undisputed monarch of a very large kingdom (yes, I am quite a fat woman). Till I find anything against it, I have decided to give it the respect it deserves. So here’s a blog post dedicated to my T-zone (and the T-zones of all others who agree with me on this).