Me: “Do you want to pick up the takeout now, or shall we do it in an hour?”

My mother: “Why do you have zits on your face?”

And that, my friends, is how you silence an adult.

I was as mortified as any fourteen year-old.  I could have delivered a million excuses: changing seasons; PMS or early menopause; E. coli-infested chocolate; the dog licked my face.  But silence seemed a more dignified response.

I suspected I would rush home after dinner and desperately pound the keyboard Googling “good skin gone bad.”  But in my newfound quest to embrace acceptance and its colleagues (non-judgment, self-love, positive thoughts, et al.), I let it go.  Instead of focusing on selfish, superficial worries that would hopefully vanish in a few weeks, I would concentrate on solving bigger problems – afflictions that had plagued generations of women and many men, at a global level without discrimination. Afflictions like cellulite.

I did my research, and a few days later, a French company’s brainchild arrived at my door.  When in doubt, always go French.  There is zero probability they will prescribe heavy exercise or fat-free living.  I unraveled the instructions with excitement.  One may think there isn’t much to learn about applying creams.  But which finger should you use?  Is it a circular motion, or more oval?  Tapping or light massage?  Clock-wise?  I don’t like to chance it.

The instructions came in six language versions, two of them Asian ones.  This was an excellent sign.  If the ladies of Tokyo and Beijing were buying this up, it had to deliver.

There were eight illustrations of a lovely naked woman with her hair in a perfect ballerina bun.  First, sit on the floor, back straight up against a wall, with legs outstretched – easily done.  And then I stopped understanding. For in the next picture, the young woman appeared to be going into labor, as she sat with knees bent, pushing apart her thighs with her hands.  And there were arrows shooting up the sides of her legs.  And, wait, was she now lying on the floor shoving her pelvis up into the air?  Rosemary’s cellulite baby.

The written portion offered little help, with its multi-step approach (phase 2, part 1, zone 3), and incremental stretches for those “accustomed to exercise.”  I tried to muddle through the other language versions, but all were as clear as mud. I felt dejected as I set the instructions down.  I would never complete the “natural draining process,” or have “refined buttocks.”

Alone and scared, I tried to find some glimmer of hope.  I sat on the bed and opened up a blank page on my laptop; I typed the number 1.  I find lists to be very comforting.  And slowly the letters flowed from my fingers onto the screen: 1. Fine greasy hair 2. Callouses and/or corns 3. Ashy knees.

There were many more global maladies out there for me to solve.