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,
Joe Rocket
