Since January this year I have been a religious user of sunblock. I am one of those unfortunate people that can never tan. I just burn. Which means that I shall never achieve that healthy bronzed look that people like Jessica Alba are blessed with and have to settle for a “I don’t get out much” look. I mean, I can actually accept this, since there are goddesses like Nicole Kidman who although around the same age as Pamela Anderson, has skin that has held up much better. However, I was peering into the mirror today and realised that I have freckles.
Yep. Awful brown spots that dust what can be seen of my cheekbones. Sure, you read in books about how people think they’re cute and everything, but seriously though, freckles just look annoying. I want to scrub them off. Grah. Why?? I do not want freckles. I shall bleach them. I shall sandpaper them away. I shall rub my face against a tree until they disappear or I bleed to death.
Ok, starting to sound hysterical now. Just goes to show you that when I have nothing to feel upset about, I’ll dredge up something from somewhere. The depths of my patheticness/patheticism have been exposed. Maybe that’s why the freckles have come out. It is my skin showing contempt towards the hopeless delinquent that I am. From now on, I am only emerging from the house at night. Ha! Accursed freckles! See how well you stand up against a life of darkness!!
Oh, I know exactly how you feel! I’ve started getting freckles when I was like 9 or so, but I only had a few on my nose. As I got older, I am getting more and more! AHHH. It’s probably because I frequented tanning beds and was out in the sun (I do get tan, but I also freckle). Ah, now I hate them sooooooooo much!
What I did notice, when I have blonde hair they are not as noticeable, as when I dyed it brunette.