FaceOff!

There's work to do here. Really.

As most of you know, I like to get my co-pay's worth out of a doctor's visit. The closest I got to a New Year's Resolution was giving up on all efforts and making an appointment for the dermatologist. I promised myself the next zit I get, I was calling a doctor. And lo, thar she blows right on my face. Let's do this.

So, I called a guy and got an appointment. I hung up relieved that I kept a promise to myself and also loaded with hope that the doctor was going to tell me to eat more garlic and try homeopathic cheap remedy. Uh, right! That or he was going to try some new dramatic infusion flush under my skin to cleanse my derma. I was just starting to think FaceOff, when I realized, when I made my appointment, the chick never asked my reason for my visit. Odd. And then I remembered that FaceOff didn't really end well.

Three weeks later, and a couple of days before my appointment, the dermatologist's office chick calls to confirm my appointment and I say - "Do y'all even want to know why I'm coming in?"

"Well, not unless its something really weird." I swear to you, that is exactly what she said.
Slight pause and then me,
"Well - its not weird to me but I'm gonna tell ya anyway. I want smooth pretty glowy acne- free skin. And I want it all done right away and I want my insurance to cover it."
And the chick laughed. Apparently it was weird.
Granted I enjoy making people laugh and all but this time, I'm half serious about it.

I get in to my appointment and they suggest that part of the routine visit is a skin check for sunspots, moles, freckles, you know - skin cancer.

Now I'm sitting in a waiting room with a robe on for mole check 2011. What the hell just happened?

How did I go from making my face pretty to taking my pants off? Well, this is how it starts in Hollywood, I'm sure, but I'm in the Big O,y'all. Still, I'm flattered. I'll show him. Poor guy. I was just going in for him to make my face pretty. So, when they said a full body skin check, I realized I didn't even have my pretty undies on. Or atleast the common courtesy of briefs.

So, when the doctor goes to sell me his products, I'll listen. Because he had to see stuff that he, nor I'd planned on. Dimply white pasty butt kind of stuff. When I get naked with my man, I turn the lights off and then - just in case that level of pasty white glows in the dark - I get under the covers. I spare my husband. But the doctor was literally blind-sided.

Once again, I got my co-pay's worth and then some.

Song of the day: Poker Face - Lady Gaga