A Zit and Cup of Coffee

So, menopause as it is, and the firing squad of quandaries shot my way, why not toss a zit or two into the mix.  Just to make sure I am still ticking, Mother Nature ( are we really sure that it's "Mother" Nature) allows me to gaze into the morning mirror and utter, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all", and what to my near sighted eyes do I see, a pimple.  Come on - seriously - a zit?

Back in the day, let's say 30 years+ ago, a pimple might have been something I could explain.  Either too much chocolate or a fried onion ring could be the culprit to such a facial disaster.  But, now at 47, a zit is something for which I feel there is no explanation.  If it were not for the constant battle against growing a beard from the surge of wayward hormones, I would be left in a state of shock with regards to a pimple.

God, you know I really love you - really I do!  But, with everything that is going awry due to the hormonal surges, are you really serious in letting me have a pimple on my chin?  Sagging body parts, female pattern baldness, aching feet - all these crummy aches and pains that come with aging are going to be my downfall.  I keep thinking to myself that I escaped my teen years with a relatively clear face.  My belief is that a constant baking of California sunshine kept my face looking halfway presentable.  I skirted the zits,  and moved along without a care in the world.

A little too late of course, I now realize (as if I thought there would be some escape) that the years of tanning have probably taken their toll on my skin.  I am my own worst enemy.  But, with the issues I have control over, why is it that a zit on my chin has become the focus point of my existence.  Vain.  Vanity.  Downright obsession.

Well, enough on this topic - I am off to the grocery store in search of a product of my past - Clearasil.