I have something I need to get off my chest

Ahhh, the joys of Motherhood.

I found a spot on my chest. As mentioned before there's not a lot to my chest, and thanks to a long line of skin cancer, I thought it might be a good idea to get the spot checked out. Sure enough, I've finally been validated in my hypochondria and blaming my lineage, the doctor concurred, it was something to have looked at.
"Yeah, I get that a lot."

The very cute doctor noted that it is raised and crusty (easy, Champ) and so he wanted to shave it and send it for testing. I wonder if there's a central biodome location with all of my contributions like my uterus, or moles, or phlegm. I bet I have my very own shelf.

I didn't even have to take off my shirt. I offered. But as usual, turned down.

"So, what did you do today?"

"Oh, not much. Had my chest shaved."

Nice.

They numbed me up and whipped out their very archaic, yet sharp, razor blade. I didn't see any rust, so, I just went with it. And while the doctor has his hands on my chest - he explains that indeed, this is a common spot for this type of thing on women. Because as it turns out - wait for it.....

wait for it.....

wait.....

The chest is more exposed. NICE.

I'm petrified and awaiting results.

That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Skin by Sade