Week Twenty-Eight

Event:  Went to a Dermatologist AND got dumped by the Indian Doctor

This week I visited the Dermatologist - something I've never done and given my skin tone and freckle domination, it's something I've always needed to do.  What prompted my appointment was this little white bump on my lip.  It's been there for about 6 months, and I wasn't concerned until my aunt told me about this little white bump she had on her lip that had to be removed because it was pre-cancerous.  Rut Roh Raggy, this could get interesting.

As I sat in the dermatologist's office waiting for the doctor to come in, my heart started to race as I replayed all of the sunburns I've had.  There was no escaping it, I'm a sun worshiper and I have the freckles to prove it.  But now really wasn't the time to try and win an award.  As I sat there in my gown, in walked the whitest man I have ever seen.  He hasn't seen the sun.  EVER.  We said hello and he fired up an overhead lamp the size of a beach ball, flipped down goggles with lenses so thick he could see through my gown and as I tried to explain what I thought the little white bump was he said, "Yep, it's a pimple."  A PIMPLE?  ON MY LIP?  FOR 6 MONTHS?  Oh for the love of all things holy are you kidding me?  I've been sitting here doing Hail Mary's for a PIMPLE?  (I'm not even Catholic, but I figured it couldn't hurt).

He asked me if I'd like him to pop it but I couldn't imagine anything worse.  The great white hope leaning over my lip to pop my pimple?  Thanks but no thanks.  Back to 7th grade I go.  Get out the wash cloth, soak it in warm water, apply gently to the stubborn 6 month pimple and BAM!  Right on the mirror (sorry that's gross but we've all been there).

As I checked out of the Dermatologist's office, I was handed two brochures featuring head to toe clothing Casper suggested I wear to keep the sun off of my arms and legs.  That of course was in addition to the strict guideline that I should be applying SPF 55 (at a minimum) on a daily basis.  I will be sure to make that a part of my new year's resolution...in the year 2045.

And if having a pimple on your lip at 34 years of age isn't humiliating enough, I received a break-up text message Thursday night from my Bowling/Salsa Dancing/Indian Doctor.  Apparently breaking up in person or over the phone is soooo 5 minutes ago.  The new way to be dumped is via text message.  And I quote, "I gave it a lot of thought.  Don't think it will work fur us.  I really had fun with u.  U R really cool.  :)  Friends?"  He then went on to say, "Honestly, I have never dated a girl who was older.  When you told me how old you were, my not so thought out answer was it didn't bother me, but a well thought out answer is, it probably does.  I didn't have a clear answer at the time so I gave it the benefit of the doubt...sorry."  I couldn't type fast enough to respond and tell him that I couldn't agree more and that he was an IDIOT but I held back, told him I completely agreed we were not a match and I wished him the best of luck.

He then wrote, "Maybe you can introduce me to some girls at your office...ha ha...joking...want to go dancing again?"

And to think, this guy is single?  Huh...