So I went to a dermatologist on Monday because I've had this bit of contact dermatitis on the side of my hand for like, six months. It isn't really all that big of a deal. But after so many months of not being right, it had got to the point where it didn't feel like hand skin anymore... more like those calloused bits on the edge of one's feet.
I finally didn't want to have foot skin on my hand any more so I sucked it up and booked an appointment with a dermatologist. I've never been before. I felt kind of dumb going in with this eensy little problem, but I started to think, "what if this never gets better and now my hand is just like this for the rest of my life?! And then it didn't seem like an eensy problem anymore - we're talking about the rest of my life, people!
Anyway, I went in with this little problem on my hand and when the nurse took my blood pressure, she handed me a gown and told me, "the doctor does a full body scan for skin cancer on all new patients so please disrobe and put this on over your underwear."
Um... you mean the raggedy ones I pulled out of the drawer in the dark so as not to disturb the sleeping husband this morning? Practically the only ones left in said drawer because I hadn't gotten around to doing the laundry for a disturbing couple of weeks? Those underwear?
But it gets better, because I am so severely blond and my hair is so fine that I can get away with being, shall we say, a little cavalier about shaving my legs in the colder months. So not only am I wearing grim underwear, but I'm sporting Sasquatch legs too.
And I only remember about the scraggly remains of a weeks-old pedicure clinging forlornly to my toes as I'm sat there fidgeting nervously waiting for the doctor to knock on the door. Dammit.
So I don't know whether to be relieved or dismayed when a medical student (it's a teaching hospital) steps into the room instead of the doctor and indicates that she'll be doing the exam. Because she is adorable. I bet her adorable little toes are sporting a perfect pedicure. And we know how perfectly put-together women make me feel.
After quizzing me on my sunscreen habits (which are exemplary) and doing the full-body scan, including peeking between my pathetically manicured toes at the end of my furry legs, she says - "How old are you?" and I tell her, and she says, "You have taken very good care of your skin!"
So - lingerie, pedicure, de-fuzzing? Epic fail. But minimizing sun damage: Aced it!
And she didn't give me permission, but you can be damn sure I had my clothes back on the very instant she walked out of the room to get the doctor. Because there's only so much humiliation one can take in a day.