In the scheme of things, the dermatologist appointment should be one of the easier doctor visits, right? You don’t have to wear make-up (in fact it’s encouraged that you don’t) and there’s no particular gussying up of yer lady parts required.
See? It’s easy from top to bottom! heh, heh, heh
Admittedly there might be a “matching bra and panties” (or at least a “wear clean underwear”) component to the visit, especially if you’re going to see Dr. Skin for a quick game of “I spy with my little eye.”
In Colorado, that game is called an Annual Skin Check. And trust me when I say that during this visit, Dr. Skin will spy with his little eye whether or not you brought your A-Game Underwear.
But it’s only after Dr. Skin’s militant, Germanic office manager has handed me two separate cover-ups – both the consistency of cheap paper napkins – that I know this is gonna go down harder than I originally thought. Game on.
After Achtung Baby leaves, I try to remember what she said about my new paper doll outfit. Leave my underwear and bra on, with the paper top open backwards?? And I briefly make myself giggle with the visual of me forgetting the instructions and wearing NO bra OR underwear. Surprise, Doc! Wucka, wucka!!!
But S^^T! During the giggling portion of the event, “someone” accidentally ripped the piece-of-cheap-crap top as they were open-in-backing it. And now this is serious business. There are five extra inches of skin exposed at the neckline and the fault line is inching further south every time I move.
But more importantly, what about the paper skirt?!? Nothing was said about THAT!!! How is this measly thing supposed to cover my ass-ets?? WTF?!?? Do only skinny people come to the dermatologist’s office???
Exactly HOW should I be wearing this charming paper skirt?! Would “open in front” be too forward? As in, “I’m mostly nekkid under here, Doc. Peek-a-boo!” But would “open in back” be too hard for the doctor to get to and therefore result in an embarrassing “Please lift your butt cheek so I can unwrap you” approach?
So at first I put my paper skirt around my waist like you would a towel-after-swimming. But when I sit down, it doesn’t actually overlap…or even CLOSE…in the front like a REAL towel would. Instead it gapes a good two inches from stem-to-stern. So I quickly switch to more of an “artful drape” with the paper spread over my lap and tucked under my legs. During this process I succeeded in poking five thumb-sized holes in the #^*$ing thing. And the rip in my top is now SEVEN inches long.
It’s at this point that the doctor knocks on the door and breezes in. [I love “the knock,” don’t you? Like I would ever say, “Not now!” Or, “I’m busy, go away!” when we BOTH know I’ve been doing nothing ELSE for the last fifteen minutes but sitting there, sweating his arrival. And speaking of SWEATING, my new outfit is now “sticking” in certain places. Super cute. Yes, yes! Please come in and witness the glory.]
So Dr. Skin comes in with a propane torch under his arm and acts like he’s going to demonstrate his crème brûlée recipe. Which he does…ON MY FACE! There are some spots that require flames and brown, bubbling flesh – two corresponding ones on either temple. After the crème brûlée demonstration, these accidental temple twins leave me looking like I’m a calf with new horn buds, or an escapee from shock-therapy-gone-bad. How darling!
And the whole thing leaves me feeling like I’ve been stabbed in the head and left to die. But while I’m breathing through the pain, Doc makes himself comfortable on his low, low stool, gazes up at me, and proceeds to give a dissertation on “recommended skin care products” all the while writing lists on the back of prescription pads.
And me? I’m not even listening because I have a blazing headache and am engaged in a bizarre, crinkly Fan Dance. The front tear on my backwards weskit has become a full split-down-the-middle. So now my paper top is in two separate pieces – a left one and a right one. Which I constantly have to pull together, then up, then down, then back together again, right hand to heart…holding, holding…so that I don’t accidentally display too many naughty bits. Uh-huh. Uh-huh, Doc. Uh-huh. And my left hand? Same scenario down below because the holes in my paper skirt have joined forces. Now it’s MOSTLY holes and my pride is in tatters, just like the skirt.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Beat it already, Doc! I gotta get DRESSED! Into REAL clothes that don’t disintegrate. But wowzers – that game was loads of fun. Count on me for another round next year.