I've been scouring over Maksi's perfect little angel skin since day 1- searching for those first signs of freckles. I'm fair skinned (which is why working at a tanning salon was HILARIOUS to me) with a pretty obvious "mole" (what the dermatologist calls it.) I hate that word. It has such a negative connotation.
Ya see, frogs (blog friends? No? Work in progress) I have freckles on half my face. I correct people when they tell me what a beautiful birthmark I have. Not a birthmark. Wasn't there when I was a birthed. They developed over time, starting around age 3, on half of my face.
I was tortured by other kids growing up. I was called half freck. People asked if I had ink or mud on my face. When I wasn't dressed up for Halloween as a waitress patrons thought I was a cat. My "favorite" will always be on Christmas when some woman (still drunk from the night before) came in the Wawa where I was working the register and asked if I had herpes.
Nice. Real nice.
So having these frecks, I suppose they're part of my charm. Maybe I wouldn't have learned to be so patient in the face of idiocy without them.
I know one thing's for sure- I hope they aren't genetic.
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