Tuesday, June 10, 2008

l've named it "Bic"

Thanks to my Scottish/Irish heritage and an insanely unlucky genetic makeup I am covered in freckles and moles. Freckles I can deal with. I’m actually oddly attracted to freckles. I love looking at people who are excessively freckled. It makes their skin strangely beautiful and unique, almost like traditional Henna skin art. But I digress.

What I don’t like are moles. Moles have no redeeming qualities. None whatsoever and don’t even talk to me about the famous Cindy Crawford beauty mark mole. It’s only attractive because it’s on her and it’s the only one she probably has. And sure it looks great but I bet you $50 that she has to get that baby waxed on a weekly basis to keep 2 ugly thick black hairs from growing out of the middle of it and dangling onto her upper lip. How attractive is that?

I make an annual trip to the Dermatologist where he slices and dices off moles of questionable size, shape and color. Thankfully all have come back from the lab as normal. Melanoma is not a pretty thing. However, the side effect of all this slicing is scar tissue and mole remnants. You see sometimes they don’t get the entire thing and part of it grows back and then takes on a weird deformed existence.

This is one of my particular favorites. For some reason the wounded and pissed off root of this particular mole decided to take its vengeance by growing back dark blue/black; therefore causing everyone who sees it to inform me that I have a dot of ink on my arm.

Sure I could get it sliced off again but I’ve grown to love the oddity of it. And much like a belly button cat ass tattoo, it’s a great conversation starter.

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