I had my six month appointment with my dermatologist this morning. Since we've been together for quite a few years, she just automatically walks in with her can of liquid nitrogen. Twelve bursts later, and I am good to go. By the time I got home, I was nicely blistered and stinging. Such is the life of a red head who has enjoyed too much time in the sun.
Who knew as we basted in baby oil in the late 50's that we'd be Kentucky Fried in our 60's. Or that it would be the sun lamps of the 70's that etched in those crow's feet. Follow that by years of lounging on the beach, baking poolside and driving around topless . . . the car that is . . . and you have damaged skin.
The 9TS should be my poster boy for skin cancer, but let's face it. Who would think to look between their toes for the odd little spot that would cause so much trouble. My PSA for the day? Slather on the sunblock and up the SPF.
In the meantime, the 9TS has been calling me "Spotty" all day long. I get no respect.
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2 comments:
You know I adore you, but in Wilson's defense....
you DO refer to him as the 9TS.
;o)
I feel your pain. Still waiting to hear back on my latest biopsy scraped from my ear.
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