I had this thing removed from my forehead this past week, frozen off with liquid nitrogen. It had started as a rough spot, barely larger than a pimple, above my right eyebrow, and before I knew it, I had this darkish discoloration that looked more like a scar than anything. I let it go for a couple of years but, as I regularly see a dermatologist, was not overly concerned. Sun damage, she said. So, I let it go.
End of 2013 rolls around and I go in for my annual derma check-up and we discuss the “spot”. I tell the doc I’m tired of it and she tells me that she has to biopsy it first, to make certain that it’s not cancerous. I agree, she jabs a needle into my forehead and numbs me up. Before I know it, she’s putting a stitch in my head above the eyebrow, and I go home with a Clifford the Big Red Dog Band-Aid protecting the new wound. Good news, it’s NOT cancer. But I walk around for a week with a stitch in my forehead telling everyone that my wife stuck me there with a fork (like in Hot Tub Time Machine).
Later, I have to go back to get this thing frozen off. No Novocain this time, she just whips out her little spray gun, the size of a small butane torch and sprays the area a couple of times with the freeze ray. It stings a little and then it burns a lot. I go on my merry way, watching this in the vanity mirror of my car, getting redder and redder. I read all the notes and take good care of this but still see it changing into a prominent scab above my manly (hairy) eyebrow . I figure I need a story, should anybody ask. So, I concoct this semi-believable tale, for just such an occasion…Yet nobody asks. Here it is, for whatever reason (fun?).
Office Manager: “What happened to your forehead?”
Me: “My wife stabbed me in the head with a No. 2 pencil.”
Office Manager: “WHAT???”
Well, it’s New Year’s Eve (2013) and we’re playing Pictionary with two other couples and we’re having a few drinks. What the heck, it’s New Year’s Eve, right? We’re all competitive but having fun and making fun of each other’s bad guesses and generally having a good time. It’s getting louder and louder but everyone’s laughing and enjoying themselves. It’s our turn and Stephanie is doing the drawing. The clue is “melanoma”. She starts to draw these squiggly lines. She draws an arm, with a spot on it. I call freckle. She shakes her head no and keeps drawing. She draws an irregularly shaped blob and I’m calling out anything. Blob, poop, you name it. The clock continues to wind down and finally she draws a lower case “c” and right next to it she draws a capital “C”, and points to the larger letter. There’s three seconds left and she’s tapping the pad madly with the tip of the pencil expectantly, fervently. I’m out of ideas at this point but, just as the timer buzzes a neuron somewhere deep in my brain fires and this idea rushes forth (FOR THE WIN) and I shout out “C--T!” And that’s when she stabbed me.
Seriously, it would have made a good story for the office (you don’t know my office) but, alas, no one asked me. The scab will be gone by next week and I’ll never have had the chance to make people gasp, laugh and wonder. Except perhaps for you, dear reader. Happy New Year. Don’t forget the sun block.
A low, slow wave,