If Your Skin Could Talk

The following letter was found, metaphorically, pinned to the inside of a bathroom mirror.

Dear Owner,

I hope this finds you well. I am writing because we do not communicate as often as we should, and lately I have a few notes to share. Please take them in the spirit of partnership. We are, after all, in this together for life.

First, thank you for the beach club on Saturday. The sunshine was glorious and I genuinely enjoyed myself for the first hour. The next four hours, unprotected, were less kind to me. I am still recovering, quietly, in ways you will not see until roughly 2031.

Regarding the margaritas

I want to be supportive of your social life. But I must gently raise the matter of the fifth margarita. The first two, I understood. By the fifth, I was being drained of moisture from the inside while you slept four hours and skipped your water entirely. I did my best. I am only one organ.

On the things that help me

I do not ask for much. A little sunscreen in the morning genuinely changes my week. Water — actual water, not just coconut water with rum in it — keeps me plump and bright. Sleep is when I do my repairs; when you give me eight hours, I reward you with the glow you then credit to good genes. And when the motorbike grime and humidity build up faster than I can cope with, a proper deep-cleansing facial is, frankly, the kindest thing you can do for me.

In conclusion

I am not angry. I am your skin; I am loyal to a fault and I will keep showing up for you regardless. But a little care goes a remarkably long way, and I would love to age alongside you gracefully rather than dramatically.

Wear the sunscreen. Drink the water. Maybe stop at three.

With enduring affection,
Your Skin