As a teenager, I was fortunate not to have to worry much about acne. Sure, I got pimples. But there was never a time when I needed to buy Noxzema in bulk, and my version of oily skin could often by remedied with a little soap and water.
I have good skin. People compliment me on it. And despite the fact that I can’t accept compliments very graciously, this is one I can get behind. “What’s your secret?” they ask me. “Good genes,” I reply. I admit to very few people that all I’ve ever used to wash my face is Dove sensitive skin soap. A couple of years ago I began using a very simple scrub from Burt’s Bees, but only once a week. I rarely even remove my makeup at night before bed.
Thanks to hormones and my tendency to rub French fries on my forehead (not really, but I may as well because I touch my face so much) I’d successfully grow one pimple about every 3-4 months, and it’d last about 2-3 days. They were small enough that probably only I ever noticed. A little bit of a cover-up stick I kept on hand for these moments, and voila! Smooth skin remains.
And then, suddenly, like a dark shadow looming in the corner of an old, rickety house, blemishes began to appear on a regular basis. It started about 3 months ago, and now, out of nowhere, I have been getting one pimple after another.
Ugly ones, too. And they hurt like a bitch. And I never learned how to properly pop a pimple as a teenager because it was never necessary, and so now here I am, 32 years old, wondering why Mother Nature decided to flip me off, and thinking maybe I’d prefer wrinkles to this. Isn’t that what women my age should be more worried about? Why is it that I’m stuck looking like the before shot of a ProActive commercial instead of considering my future in Botox?
Meanwhile, my hairline has decided to embark on an outpouring of teeny, tiny little hairs, growing ever so slowly, framing my face in such a way that makes all hairstyles look unkempt. I may as well be headed to prom instead of to the store for more boxes of Ms Clairol like the rest of the women my age are doing.
Apparently it’s all a crapshoot. But congrats to me on the no wrinkles or gray hair yet.