So, I have this mole on my cheek. It wasn’t always there, but I forget when it showed up. Strangely, one of my aunts on my mom’s side also has one, but on the opposite cheek.
I hate this damn thing. I’ve been thinking forever that I’ll eventually get it removed, but it hasn’t been high on the priority list. I need things like food and a car and expensive electronics.
Sometime in the last day or two, this thing has taken on a life of its own. It’s like it grew a little hat or something. I was self-conscious about it before, but now it’s just all out there. Driving me nuts. I have yet to consult a doctor about getting a referral to a dermatologist, so I don’t think I’ll be able to address it any time in, say, the next couple weeks.
I was telling my mom about it. Her first words were, “Make sure you see a cancer specialist!” Okay, mom, I know it’s a bad sign if it’s morphing or crawling or waving back at me in the mirror, but I’m sure the dermatologist will take care of that.
So, yeah, it grew a little hat. And like I don’t feel badly enough about it, several times today I’ve had people mention it. I went in for an eye exam so I could get new glasses and contacts, and the eye doctor hands me a tissue and says, “Youve got something on your cheek there.” Thanks, buddy. I’d wipe it off if I could. And I didn’t rub cheek mole juice on your precious machine.
Then I get to work, and this chick who’s about to leave for the day (and who is not known for being the brightest and best) says to me, “Hey, what’s that on your face?” I say, “It’s a little shumpin’ shumpin’ I gotta have the dermatologist look at.” She says…. oh my god… she says, “Oh, I thought it was a piece of candy.”
A fucking piece of candy. Yes, I decided to glue a fuckin’ Smartie to my face and wear it around at work.
Anyway, I want it taken care of now. I’ll have to take a look at my new insurance info (we just switched because my company got bought out) tomorrow and call the doc.
A piece of candy. Christ.