freckle juice

At the insistance of a adamant and presentation-concerned father, I paid a visit to a plastic surgeon. Little did I know that he was a plastic surgeon. My father has urged me to undergo a laser removal procedure -- though I must admit, I'm not completely against this. So a consultation with what I thought was a dermotologist was in order. It hit me that this guy was not a dermatologist but a surgeon when I found myself walking through a waiting room with about six women, half of them with bandages on their faces, recovering from various facial adjustments.

The doctor was bemused and kept reiterating the fact that after the freckle removal procedure, it would take a lot to take care of my face. Good lord, talk about being under a microscope. I sat there as he examined my face, scrutinizing each freckle, while my father kept apologizing for the fact that my face was the way it was because I was always outside playing. Is that something to apologize for? I guess so, since the doctor also said that my freckles are so severe that even with the laser removal, 50% would return.

It's actually quite comforting to know that some things are loyal to me.