Because no information is Too Much Information on the Interweb, I shall now share with you my ongoing skin issues. My blemish situation has continued to the point that, after looking up various horror-movie skin conditions it MIGHT be (the Interweb: a hypochondriac's wet dream), I finally went to my doctor. She seemed nonplussed--apparently, at this life stage, I get to worry about pimples AND wrinkles. Supposedly, I have a mild staph infection; I am just grateful that it's not the HUGE JOB-LIKE BOILS variety. Anyway. The doctor prescribed a topical something-or-other that came in a bottle "with a dauber applicator;" this statement made me chuckle as it reminded me of those specialized Bingo pens. Turns out it's EXACTLY like a Bingo dauber, except filled with magical zit-blasting fluid instead of, say, purple ink. (And thank God.)
But! Since I was in there having my cranky flesh examined anyway, I decided I'd ask her about a couple little skin-tag moles on my neck--what my friend Krispy helpfully refers to as "booger moles." "What do I need to do to get these removed?" I asked. I imagined a dermatological consultation, a specialist with little tools for freezing or burning or cauterizing. So I was a teensy bit disappointed when the good doc whipped out A PAIR OF STERILE SCISSORS and snipped off the two worst offenders, zip zap. It was both thrilling and gross. I didn't even require a band-aid.
"That was easy," I said, visions of my nail clippers at home dancing in my head.
"Don't try it yourself. You don't want tetanus," said the doctor, reading me like a book.
Stay tuned for next week's exciting episode of Pustule Theater!