With no make up, and a thin layer of sweaty sheen, my scarred skin seemed to glow obnoxiously, made all the more noticeable by my hair pulled back tight off my face. But my skin never prevented me from becoming a dynamic dancer with confidence in her abilities.
I signed some papers that said the manufacturer wouldn’t be responsible for my death or deformities in fetuses, yadda yadda yadda, something about suicide and permanent damage to your intestines, blah blah, sure I’ll sign!
Back in high school, when everyone’s skin was freakin’ out real bad, I would respond to my friends' complaints about their acne by telling them, “I don’t know what you’re talking about," because, “I’ve never had a pimple.” What. A. Dick.