Facne

I haven’t watched SNL religiously since Mike Meyers reigned supreme. But every now and then, I catch it. Sometimes on Weekend Update they do a bit called “Really?”. Seth Meyers and Amy Poehler comment on some ridiculous piece of news and the only response appropriate is “really?”.
In order of importance: greatest to smallest. Hurricane Sandy devastates my community. Really? A few days later, we are covered in snow. Really? My face is broken out like a 15 year old and my hair is rapidly approaching Monica Gellar on vacation status. Really?
Yes, this is truly unimportant in the grand scheme. Seriously though, I need a keratin treatment right now like Romney needs a prescription for Prozac. I’m turning 31 next week and I’m going to have facne when my girls approach puberty. (facne = fucking acne, yes, I made it up). I am convinced it’s hormonal, so there’s a silver lining. I get a hysterectomy and oophorectomy in a couple years because of the BRCA gene. I’m clinging to the desperate hope that that will mean relief from all of the wonderful (read: horrible) things that come along with having a uterus and ovaries.
Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful to have had the luxury of getting pregnant, carrying my babes to term and not having any issues there. But after we go for número tres, the ump calls the play. You’re outta there!! No more period, no more PMS, no more facne!!!

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