Well, I saw the dermatologist for my annual full body checkup this week.  You know I can't resist reporting on anything as humiliating as that.  I mean it's not every day that we find ourselves in awkward situations and I have lived long enough to know that awkwardness breeds discomfort and discomfort breeds insecurity and insecurity often breeds humor.  I know that sounds sort of Biblical, but I can assure you that it is not.       

I had an appointment with a new dermatologist.  The appointment was out of town, so I set out early on what was a most beautiful day, so I could enjoy a long lunch with my precious friend, Michelle, first.  We go back a long way.......all the way back to the 1st grade, so we have done a lot of damage to our skin together through the years.  Friends don't let friends sunburn alone.     

It's always a little stressful, at first, to see a new doctor, but let me just tell you that we got to know each other real quick.  Well, she may know me more than I know her, but still.....we became well acquainted.   

You know the drill.  The nurse comes in and lays out the plan....."Ok, you're going to remove everything from the waist up, oh, and your socks and put on this gown opened to the back."  ............"Wait, What? Go back....my socks?"

You, women, know that we're put through the wringer most of our lives......a lifetime full of appointments where we're stripped of all of our garments.....not a single thread left to hide behind, but we're always, always allowed to keep our socks.  Oddly, they provide a lot of comfort in our time of distress.  Our shield.  I've never been robbed of my socks!    

The dermatologist is one of those appointments when you know you'll need to dig around in your drawer a little longer and find your very newest undergarments.  Some occasions just call for that, you know.  You don't want to be discussed in the clinic break room during the lunch hour.  

Anyway, I had a long time to sit under those clinical strength fluorescent bulbs in solitude while I waited on them to come back in.  They really allow you an excessive amount of time to remove your socks and all.  Plenty of time for self-inspection.  The only other choice I had to pass the time was an outdated Men's Health laying there on the counter.  I decided to go with the self-inspection. "Woah, I've never seen that before"....."My kingdom for some moisturizer"......"I really should've repainted my toes before I came here"........."I just shaved these legs this morning.....where is this stubble coming from?"...."I wonder if I have time to hop off the table, get a mint out of my purse, and hop back on before they get in here".........."Would you look at the size of my pores?"   

Just before I'd finalized my plan to impale myself on the scalpel laid out on the nearby tray, I heard my chart slide out of that thingy on the door.  You know when you hear footsteps that stop abruptly, then hear the chart slide out and pages start flipping.......you're up next. 

She came in along with her assistant.  I don't know.  I think sometimes they just pull people off the street and ask if they want to come along.  At least, there was only one with her......unlike the time my former dermatologist brought in the Dermatology Class of 2013 with him.  Note that I used the word, former.  Why bother with cadavers when you can torment unsuspecting, unclothed, living people?   

Anyway, she began to inspect me like she was the USDA and I was a chuck roast.  She looked carefully at every mole, freckle, age spot, and blemish from my pinky toe to my scalp.  That takes a while when you're dotted like a Seurat painting like I am. 

She looked over the swath of markings and identified each one for me.....using those long doctor words that I couldn't have repeated back to her if my life depended on it.  "Oh, this is nothing to worry about, it is only a sichlemtsydokihtelukdefejhgaseknoma."  (That is a loose translation of what she actually said, you understand)         

She found a couple of moles she wanted to cut off, so I was lying there trying to conceal what "my Mama gave me" as she did her work.  And you know how doctors want to make small talk supposing that it will make you feel more at ease while they're doing goodness knows what.  Well, I don't know about you, but I find it difficult to talk about the price of gas and incoming weather fronts while on my stomach with my legs dangling off a short table in a gown that is open in the back and falling all kinds of forward. 

Anyway, I got that over with for a while.  They say I may have a couple of small scars, but I'm sure Sports Illustrated can Photoshop those right off in my next bikini shoot, so I'm trying not to stress over it too much.

I hope y'all have a great weekend full of sleeping late and laying around in stretchy pants with a good book!  I can't wait to start this one!!!