I love my dermatologist.Yeah. You don't hear that much. But I really do. Doc received his medicine degree in 1966 -- 6 years before I made my entrance. He greets me with a "Kim! How's my girl been?" The familiarity is justified. After all, he's been taking care of my zits, flakes, and various other creepy cruds for over half my life.He turns on a lamp, points it at the afflicted area (usually my hideous face), knows immediately what's wrong, and how we can fix it. This process takes less than 5 ...

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