So, apparently most skin damage occurs while you are a teenager.  This begins to make sense to me as I vividly remember lying out on the roof of my two-story house on a bed of tinfoil deep-frying myself in Crisco.
This image led to a few other teenage flashbacks and mishaps that had hidden themselves in the recesses of my middle-aged mind only to rise afresh with my recent facial mishaps. I suppose I have to take the blame for my skin cancer but really in the eighties No One talked about skin damage, smoking, drinking and driving OR unprotected sex; that being the case I think I get to blame my mom….just kidding mom.
But there are other images equally as foolhardy:
Secreting myself in the pantry with a box of dried cake mix and a spoon.  Can we say pica?  O.k. maybe not quite pica but something strange and hardly wonderful nonetheless.  Cake mix and a box of dried spaghetti and I was one happy camper.
Hanging from my second story bedroom window for twenty-two minutes by my fingertips trying to get up the nerve to drop to the ground while wearing my Mom’s three inch white Candies, a two-tiered mini, and a fresh pair of double thick Suntan colored hose though my legs definitely more of a beige color.
Driving my Dad’s car home at three a.m. at the age of fifteen because somebody had to be responsible, I mean…my brother was drunk and Dad needed the car for work…hello…..you’re welcome Mom.
Stealing the master key to the Social Studies Final and mis-numbering it when I made half the class a copy.
Question #4: President During Civil War?
Answer: according to Becky: Battle of Bull Run
It was down hill from there…for all of us.

I was a foolish foolish girl and it amuses my family members that such a girl could grow to be a woman who expects so much from her own teenage son who sometimes delivers and sometimes does not but would never be caught dead in Crisco, behind the wheel of a car before his time or hanging by his fingertips in a two-tiered mini…at least I hope he wouldn’t.