Thank God I'm already married

As a child, I collected unicorns.
Sometimes, we get too close to that we love.

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So I went to the dermatologist last week; first time ever. I was blessed with good skin and hair, what can I say? Never needed a professional to take a closer look at anything.

(She said, flipping her Pantene-perfect ponytail; her freshly-scrubbed, makeup-free cheeks glowing. Or not.)

But time's a bitch and about 6 weeks ago, I noticed my skin was freaking-the-fuck-out. I looked like a reject for a Proactiv infomercial.
"Tsk-tsk," they said. "A little rough for the before shot, don't you think?"

Seriously, I woke up one morning and I had acne. Full-on acne. WTF? I mean, I was thankful to have avoided the stigma of unhappy pores as a teenager, but I've got enough shit going on right now, thankyouverymuch.

I bought some products, added an extra shower, even avoided the magnifying mirror, because I did not deserve that trauma. Nothing worked. I tried to determine what new ingredient I had encountered, and could find nothing suspicious. And I thought, maybe I just need to give it time to work itself out. It was almost a rash. Like a constellation of bumps and spots and splotches.

Look, Pegasus!

And I decided to just roll with it.

Until this... thing... showed up on my foot.

(BTW, I have nice feet too, as feet go. Or at least, I had nice feet.)

See, this is what happens when you take things for granted. Stop bemoaning the parts that suck (weight, crooked teeth, big nose, whatever) and revel in the magnificence that is the good stuff. Because eventually it will all 'catch ugly' if you don't take care of what the Good Lord and your Mama gave you.

Catch ugly and grow horns.

Specifically, a cutaneous horn.
And if you just did a Google Image search on that, don't blame me for losing your lunch. You know they only show the most extreme shit in those pictures. Because that's what the people want. Except me. I think there should be a warning label and an extra click or two to get to the freaky pictures.

These cutaneous horns normally appear in areas that are exposed to the sun. But sometimes, they show up in shady spots too. Like, for instance, my foot.

(Why yes, I do live in Florida, but no, I do not wear sandals or flip-flops. I also keep my keys, debit card and driver's license in my pocket at all times. These issues may be connected.)

It was a little spot by my little toe. In fact, you wouldn't notice it at first glance. It was all pale and tiny. I can't emphasize that enough. Pale and Tiny. I certainly wouldn't say cute, but it Did Not look like anything you saw in those pictures you wish you hadn't searched for. But it hurt when it was bumped the wrong way. And I developed a protective response whenever anything got within a foot of my, uh, foot.

So I looked for a dermatologist. I found a whopping eight in my area. And of those eight, the earliest appointment was in October. So I branched out and found someone about 40 miles away who could see me several months sooner. (There may be a need for dermatologists in North Central Florida. Time for a career change?)

Thanks to my father's skin cancer issues, I was awarded a full-body inspection from the good doctor. Luckily, she was super-nice and professional. I totally dug her and her nurse. Awesome service. I was prescribed some acne cream, which took forever to be approved by my insurance. I was "out of appropriate age range." Obviously, non-pregnant 30-somethings get acne too. Pay up, bitches. So we'll see how that works out.

The removal was fast and nearly painless. I don't know what kind of numbing agent they use, but it worked in like 15 seconds and they cut that little guy off and cauterized the area before I even finished getting worked up about it. The worst part was the needle, of course. My dentist needs to take some pointers from my dermatologist.

And the biopsy came back negative, so that's one less thing to worry about. 427 other things just moved up a spot!

You know what wasn't on the list? Turning 31. I had no problem turning 31 last week. When I turned 30 last year, I whined like a little bitch. Nothing like a little perspective, eh?