Whack-A-Mole

To follow up on the nice words I said about my mom yesterday, this post is an ode to a dear friend I had to say goodbye to this week. Saying goodbye is hard, especially when something has been with you for your entire life. 

This dear friend has been with me through everything. Seen my worst, my very worst. Literally. My. Worst. It knew my secrets, my fears, my loves and more than maybe I even knew.

Okay, sorry to lead you on with this confession. This "friend" was actually a huge unsightly mole that I have hated, despised, stressed about and thought about most every day of my adult life. It was removed Monday at a routine annual skin check with my new Dermatologist. However, I really really hope that one or several of you aren't reading this paragraph and you comment something sympathetically about me saying goodbye to a friend. That would be what I call a great success. Ending this paragraph with one more sentence so that my wish isn't revealed to those who skim, mwahaha evil laugh. 

Hold out your pinky. Pretend that a mole the size of your pinky finger nail-to-tip, yes including the entire width of your finger, really the WHOLE thing, was somewhere on your body. Only your parents, doctors and most but not all lovers have seen this mole. Unavoidable, and you really have no idea if it's been named before or not. Chances are yes.

I never named it. 

I've gone from avoiding showing doctors, asking doctors for opinions, scheduling surgery and chickening out to finally asking a sweet woman who I just met remove this mole. In ten minutes she drew on it, numbed it, removed it, burned it and bandaged the remaining wound. Oh, and she was the sweetest woman to say "nice you meet you" on her way out of the office, hopefully not to dinner plans that I'd made her queasy over with my unannounced request.

For the next few weeks it will be covered with an eclectic collection of Angry Bird band-aids (Alissa at Graceless Lady, I am pretty sure these were meant for you and I was the worst and never sent them. Check your gmail for "bandaid" if you don't recall) and will be closely taken care because now I don't have to ever feel embarrassed about it ever again. 

It looks so good that I wish I could share my transformation with the world. But I won't. 

I will share that I celebrated "whack-a-mole" with a dinner of chips + salsa + guacamole.

At least I'm funny, right?

Are you confessing with Melissa today?