Saturday, June 21, 2014

     Whoever said freckles were cute needs to be strung up by their hangnails. Freckles are not cute. The worst part is that once you age, they blend in with your liver/age spots, so you look like a connect-a-dot page in a kindergarten activity book. 

     I have had freckles since I came out of the womb and my doctor slapped my mother because I was so ugly. The freckles covered my small bald pate which didn’t produce real hair until I was ready for pre-school orientation. That’s really not true. I didn’t go to pre-school because they didn’t exist then. Mothers were forced to be mothers--there wasn’t an escape plan. My mom was not to be outdone, however. She found a nursery at her favorite department store, and she would leave me there for hours every time she shopped. I finally graduated from there at age 11. The teacher could always find me though because I was the only kid covered in liver spots at age 4. 

     It’s not like you can get a peel to get rid of these annoying little marks. I would have to peel my entire body, and the down time would interfere with Scandal and So You Think You Can Cook. Just how much salve can one rub on one’s pores, anyway?

     There is good news in all of this. If I am ever kidnapped (Mr Wonderful should be so lucky), they could identify me by the number of freckles on my arms. Last count was over 328.
     The brown spots on my legs are now expanding and growing together, so I can claim to be an immigrant and get free soup at the shelter. It’s all good.