Seriously… what the hell is up with zits? More to the point, why am I still getting them in middle age? I’m going to be forty-four in mid March, and I cannot, for the life of me, figure on why we even have acne in the first place, let alone why a grown adult needs acne.

     What kind of sick thing conspires against us in our teenage years – when we’re already going mad with body changes, hormones, and awkward coming of age emotions and identifications, to then lay on us this twisted right of passage where the skin on our face conspires against us to have a normal social interaction, or even score a kiss?!

     And then why does that need to keep coming back through adulthood? Who thinks that’s funny at sixteen, let alone now in my forties?

     And then what the hell is up with them when they break; whether you pop them, or not. I mean, the gunk is gone, the blood should clear out, and I should be able to get back to my life without; going out, see folks, doing things. But no…

Seriously? 
I’m going to be forty-four in just a couple months.