I’ll admit it, I was smug.
Growing up, I always had great skin.
No pimples. No breakouts.
Not even as a teenager.
But then I got older.
First, I got wrinkles.
None around my eyes, though I’m sure those are on their way.
But on my forehead and between my eyebrows.
Bring on the BOTOX!
Taken care of.
And all that sun damage from living in California?
Yeah, that showed up too.
All those times I slathered up with BABY OIL and hit the pool with NOT A STITCH OF SUNSCREEN ON AT ALL?
Finally caught up to me.
So I saw my dermatologist and had my sun damage removed, courtesy of 6+ FotoFacial sessions (a tidy little $1K investment).
Whew! Sun damage gone. What a relief!
Then I developed melasma on my forehead.
Courtesy of having babies (it’s also known as the pregnancy mask).
Not so easy to get rid of.
So at age 42, I finally started wearing foundation to cover up my melasma.
And then. . .
AND THEN. . .
My hormones have hit the skids as I experience the beginning of menopause.
And HOLY HELL, the acne is SOMETHING STRIAGHT OUT OF HELL!
Large, red, angry, deep below the surface, sporting fucking horns and a pitchfork which they use to irritate the bejesus out of you.
So, at age 42, I had to go to my doctor and get a prescription for topical antibiotics to treat my acne.
All this is to say, I am of course fighting the inevitable.
One day, I will be a wrinkled old lady whose looks have long since faded.
Hopefully by the time that happens, I will be a coupled up, happy grandmother with plenty of love and adventure in my life.
But today, I’m just going to go ahead and say it:
GETTING OLD SUX!