For those of you who are my regular readers, I’m guessing you’ve probably noticed that the number of illustrated posts here on Abby Gabs has increased exponentially in the last several weeks. There are a few different reasons for that: #1) they’re fun. #2) they make my husband laugh. #3) did I mention that they’re fun?
However, I have a slight confession to make. There’s another underlying reason why you’ve been seeing THIS Abby:
Instead of THIS Abby:
And I can sum it up in two mean and ugly words.
Here’s the rub–I had perfect skin as a teenager. I was thin, beautiful, popular, and my skin was the envy of adolescents everywhere. Sure, I had the occasional flare up–a zit on my chin before homecoming, a flourish of blackheads along my hairline–but they were easily managed with a little Noxema and some Cover Girl concealer. A day or two later, and it was as if it never happened.
I was lucky enough that my ability to grow zit-resistant skin followed me into my 20s, and even the first year of my 30s. But the day I turned 31? My pores decided to wage war against me. And it hasn’t been a pretty battle. The difference between my 16-year-old skin and my 31-year-old skin? Well…it’s led to some pretty drastic measures.
If only wearing a bag over my head in public was really a valid option. I’ve got a couple of really cute canvas totes that would work quite nicely.
The truth is that I’m new at this fight against acne. I didn’t deal with it as a kid, and now I’m learning all the ins-and-outs to getting rid of blackheads. (Note: lemon juice, Elmer’s glue, and egg whites don’t work. Sonic screwdrivers will be used as a last resort.)
Brian says I’m too hard on myself. That my skin isn’t as bad as I think it is, and that I need to stop obsessing over my face. He’s sweet, and supportive, and all the other things a wonderful husband should be.
But he’s wrong.
Because you see, when you’ve always had pretty skin, it’s hard to get used to waking up in the morning to a new patch of blemishes who appear to have camped out on your face over night.
And so, until I win this war that I’m waging, or at least gain a little bit of a lead, you’ll be seeing illustrated Abby pretty frequently. Otherwise, any photos of myself published on the blog will look more like this:
…is that better?