Vanity

Here's another thing that fucks me off. Zits.

I can accept the aging process. I can accept the gray hairs that have started to sneak onto the scene. (Three, at last count. I've named them: Lupe, Hermione, and Steve.) I can accept that I'm getting some laugh lines around the eyes. I've earned a few lines and wrinkles and scorn the use of Botox, Collagen, whatever other bullshit anti-aging technologies are out there. If you are willing to inject fucking anthrax into your body for the sake of an unmoving forehead? Go for it, dumbass. But when you glow in the dark or find yourself with a terminal illness from that shit hitting your bloodstream? Don't come crying to me.

I think people should age gracefully. Worrying about it, and going out of your way to prevent it only makes it worse. IT SHOWS when you can't accept it, and it SHOWS when you're doing shit to yourself to try to fool people. Here's something you should know: YOU FOOL NO ONE.

I'm aging okay, despite those visible signs of being in my fifth decade. Those physical things...they're part of life. Okay, good.

But you'd think it'd be a trade off NOT to get any more fucking ZITS. I've always had good skin, though pale and sometimes a bit pasty when my diet and sleep schedule aren't the healthiest. It's smooth, soft, clear. Most of the time. But every once in a while...as if to mock me in my arrogance...hello? What's this? A SPOT? Damn you, little clogged pores... damn you to HELL.

That said:

I've done enough thinking about this, and whinging about this, that I have created names for the three types of zits: Peepers, stingers, and screamers.

Peepers are the wee fellas that pop up in that little crevace* between your nose and cheek. They don't hurt, and once you realize they're there, you just scrape a fingernail across them, they go 'pop,' and they're gone, leaving no redness or soreness behind. If you're going to get a zit, this is the easiest all around.

Then there's your stingers. These don't really show to the general public, but you find out they're there when you inadvertently touch it while scratching your face or something. All it takes is light contact and it's like an invisible wasp has just taken umbrage at your face, and nailed you. "YEEEEOOOOWWWW! What the fuck is that?" I'm dealing with a stinger right now, right there on my chin. Others cannot see it, which is, I suppose, some comfort. But the little bastard hurts. And it's RUINING my day.

The screamers are the worst, both in terms of pain and vanity. They hurt, they show, if you touch them, they get worse, and THEY. ARE. UGLY. No make up can cover them, and no zit cream will help. They LAUGH at zit cream. "DO YOUR WORST" they say, as they tuck into the zit cream feast, and get bigger and redder and more arrogant. Fuckers.

Other than that, all is well. YOU?



*EDIT: Crevace? Cravasse? Fuck.