Mind if I obsess here?

Like my hair, my skin has been a life-long preoccupation for me. Well, I may not be much, but I am all that I think about. I had freckles when I was a kid. They started as this little expansion bridge that spanned my nose, then spread out all over my face. You could tell summer had arrived by my dusting of new ones. As I grew into adolescence, I would get these red spots in the whites of my eyes. The eye doctor told us they were, yep, freckles. I got teased a lot. And as awful as freckles were, they were nothing compared to pimples. I escaped the really pock-marking acne, but pimples came with fair regularity and I haunted the drug store looking for relief. For 40 years. Back when I had really good health insurance, I would visit the dermatologist every couple of years, hoping for a breakthrough. Retin-A helped there, and I could not get my insurance to pay for it because I was over 40, and it was considered cosmetic, even though it really was to stave off pimples. So I asked how best to preserve my skin and his best advice was to wear a moisturizer with sunscreen (Johnson & Johnson Purpose) and never use soap on my face. His recommendation? Dove. I have used Dove since I was about 27. Now, at 61, my skin is relatively pimple-free. Once in a while a rogue blemish invades for a moment, even now. And I have the best skin I have ever had in my life. It is relatively unlined, too, and I am certain this is because it was so oily when I was younger. I keep it slathered with all those wonderful goos out there, with names like Elizabeth Arden's Visible Difference and Olay's Regenerist. My personal favorite is Pond's Dramatic Results. And now, they are not sufficient if they just battle wrinkles. Now, they must be firming, too, because my flesh has divorced my bone, and without aid, would just hang off my face like tired crepe paper. It's a challenge being me.