I am 38 years old, as I know I’ve mentioned before. Yet I have the biggest spot on my chin. It is a spot so big it changes the profile of my face. And it’s not an unusual occurrence either.
I first got spots as soon as I started secondary school. And you can be sure I took plenty of shit for them. During my first year, my rather cruel nickname was ‘zit-slap’, which also handily described my hairstyle at the time. (Very short)
More than a quarter of a century later, the spots are still there. Only now, and for the past several years, they are accompanied by grey hairs and wrinkles. How unfair is that?!
I have been on one form of medication or another from the doctor since I was 16 and I always, but always, wash in Clearasil. My current medication does a reasonable job. I don’t have that generally spotty appearance I used to have, but I do still get the odd whopper.
My chest and back are in no condition to be revealed in public. I could reveal them, but it would involve slapping my medicated cream on every night and to, be honest, it’s not worth it. My chest is way too bony to be seen anyway.
I did use it for a couple of months in the run-up to my sister’s wedding last year, when I was a bridesmaid for the first time at the age of 36. It bleached my pyjamas something chronic. Luckily they are only from Primark. And I still wear them now, despite the bleach.
My poor husband suffered too. His spots were unimaginably big and he also did the whole prescription medication thing. While his were worse back in the day, they did at least have the decency to clear up by his mid-20s.
My poor kids stand no chance. At the first sight of a spot, I am packing them straight off to the doctor’s. Kids have enough hassles in life without being bullied for their skin. No child of mine will ever be called ‘zit-slap’.