Palefolk Woes
This June will make four years since a dude with full-sleeve tiger stripe tattoos pierced my naval (Katherine had a nipple done and did not even blink, but I am not that hardcore. Later she confessed to putting on a brave front for my sake, but still). In the days that followed, I realized that every muscle in the body is somehow, directly or indirectly, connected to the belly button. There was no movement that didn't jar or pull or twinge at my new bar. It makes sense, if you think about how much twisting and stretching and bending you do in the course of a day but, well, it doesn't cross your mind much until it hurts.
Now I'm learning that the same rule applies to flip-side of the torso. It's been three days since the dermatologists went at my back with the 'cookie cutter.' Their words, not mine. I have a total of nine stitches over three sites, which is more annoying than painful. The one on my arm is healing up nicely, but both closures on my back are red and puffy. It's as if they're glaring at me every time I change the dressing, accusing me of slouching, reaching for things on tall shelves, hunching over my knitting, tying my shoes, sleeping on my back and carrying too heavy a purse. Let's not even talk about ballroom practice.
So I sent a Facebook message to my aunt, asking her to tell my grandfather that I've forgiven him for passing down his big nose and overbite, but I'm still holding a grudge about the moles and freckles.
Her response? "I feel your pain sweetie! Last visit was numbers 17 and 18 removed!"
...nooooot encouraging.
Now I'm learning that the same rule applies to flip-side of the torso. It's been three days since the dermatologists went at my back with the 'cookie cutter.' Their words, not mine. I have a total of nine stitches over three sites, which is more annoying than painful. The one on my arm is healing up nicely, but both closures on my back are red and puffy. It's as if they're glaring at me every time I change the dressing, accusing me of slouching, reaching for things on tall shelves, hunching over my knitting, tying my shoes, sleeping on my back and carrying too heavy a purse. Let's not even talk about ballroom practice.
So I sent a Facebook message to my aunt, asking her to tell my grandfather that I've forgiven him for passing down his big nose and overbite, but I'm still holding a grudge about the moles and freckles.
Her response? "I feel your pain sweetie! Last visit was numbers 17 and 18 removed!"
...nooooot encouraging.