Here’s how I decided to deal with my acne when I was thirteen:
An office. My 13 year old self is sitting at a desk. Tweezers enters.
Me: Oh…hi. Are you some tweezers?
No response. Tweezers just sits down in the chair in front of the desk.
Me: If you are I think you’re in the wrong place. Because I recently got acne and I’m holding interviews to determine the best way to get rid of it.
Tweezers: Yeah, that shit’s all over your face. You should use me to get rid of it.
Me: What? How?
Tweezers: I have sharp metal edges you can poke at your face with.
Me: That would get rid of my acne?
Tweezers: [shrugs] Maybe. [Leaning in to peer at my face] Damn. I sorta wanna touch that shit…
Me: [shrill] No, don’t! [Then, trying to be calm] I was thinking more along the lines of Oxy? Or my friend Alex, right before his Bar Mitzvah, I guess he got this face treatment, right? So he wouldn’t break out that weekend. Do you know how they do that?
Tweezers: Tweezers, probably.
Tweezers: Probably he got his face poked at with sharp metal tweezers.
Me: Well…thank you for coming by. I’ll let you know.
Tweezers: So, who else is in the running? That Clearasil waiting out there?
Me: Sure, maybe.
Tweezers: Because I killed that Clearasil before I came in.
Tweezers: [shrugs] It’s just some soap.
Me: Oh my god. Oh my god.
Distressed, I run my hands through my (cool, gelled) hair as I try to figure out what to do. Finally, I look up.
Me: Okay, I’m going to give you one chance… but only because semi-formal is tonight. [spraying cologne everywhere] Now come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do.