Adding Insult to Injury

I’m 34 years old.  My crows feet are getting a little more pronounced.   I have a profound lack of energy most days, particularly between 1:30 and 6:30pm.  My bones crack, my jaw clicks, and after rising from a squatting position, I hobble through my first steps.  If nobody’s looking, I’ll get on all-fours to go up stairs.  Every so often a stalk of a gray hair appears overnight, four inches long and sticking bolt upright from my scalp, at which point I yank it savagely from its cozy foundation.

So first off, I feel it’s profoundly unjust that I still get zits in the quantity that I do.  But let’s pretend for a moment that it’s fair that wrinkles and blemishes live concurrently on the same face.  Let’s grant the premise.  Well, if that’s the case, a pimple should be EITHER enormous OR flaming red OR painful, but not all three.  NOT.  ALL.  THREE.