Worst Case Scenario: Your Dermatologist is Hot.
Cliffnotes: My skin has been a trainwreck since my boobs were in that weird pre-pubescent nub stage. Well, that’s not true because they say trainwrecks are beautiful because they are so intense that you cannot look away. My skin, unlike trainwrecks, was much easier to look away from on account of its spotty, goopy, greasy nature.
I have had short periods of good skin followed by long periods of disaster skin for upwards of 10 years. I routinely cycle from baby-ass smoothness to endless months of bumpy terrain. This happened again upon moving to NYC about a year ago— where the air is filthy and muggy, and my skin is sensitive and susceptible. I had like (no exagg) upwards of 200 blackheads on my cheeks for the summer of 2012. My cheeks had always been my safe zone, guaranteed to stay smooth even when my forehead and back were having tantrums.
After pushing the last of what I still believe was a cheese cube out of my pores, I decided to get a dermatologist in the city. My insurance is pretty solid so I went to a place that sounded fancy near Columbus Circle.
Imagine my glee/horror when a tall, dark, handsome, doe-eyed, long eyelashed, strapping man entered the room to introduce himself as my dermatologist. “NO!” I screamed internally, realizing that all hopes for a happily ever after with this man would be dashed against the rocks the moment he looked deep into my…erm…pores.
After the routine visit where I was showered with prescriptions and those little sample sized creams, I called my unsupportive male friend.** This friend laughed outright and then explained why it, “sucks to be me” and “oh man, your life should be a tv show.”
So if you’re ever having a bad day and need to feel better about yourself, just know that there are only a handful of things worse than having a hot dermatologist.
**I think every girl should have an unsupportive male friend to put things into a perspective that their lovely supportive female friends simply can’t.