I've asked you before, but you never listen. Please go away. You've been a sore spot (pun intended) for the past 17 years, and I'm tired of you. You ruined countless school dances, Mike's 10-year high school reunion, many live shots on TV and ordinary days that I would have looked so much better without you, you big red bump.
It seems like a cruel joke that you can accompany newly formed lines and age spots on my face. It seems like one's presence should equal the other's departure.
I'm tired of trying to cover you and pretending you're not there. I hate when I catch someone looking at you instead of at me.
Zits, I'm 32 1/2, so it's time you go away. I know we've had a long history together, but it's time to say goodbye.