Pin Prick my ass!

As a follow up to yesterday’s post, the insurance lady came and she ran the tests needed to find out how much our monthly premiums will be for life insurance.  There is something about having a health test ran on me by someone that is so severely overweight that it made me giggle.  Here is this woman that hauled all her shit into my house to ask me questions about my health.  I kept thinking about the Adam Sandler skit Fatty McGee who kept weezing because he “liked the stairs”.   She had to have been pushing a good 300lbs up the stairs to my living room. As she came in the smell of ashtray followed her.  She must have just chained two cigarettes within five minutes with the way she smelled which prompted me to allow her to test my wife before me regardless of the fact that I can’t watch blood being drawn from another person, much less my own wife.

I hung out in the kitchen cooking dinner until it was my turn and by the time I was up, the smell had dissipated some.  I hate needles.  More than you could ever imagine.  I am such a wuss when it comes to needles.  Something about sticking a sharp metal object into my vein doesn’t do it for me.  I could never be a heroin addict regardless of the high.  I thought I read where they just do a finger prick to draw blood but apparently the amount that we are requesting for insurance required a gallon. (not really, but two big vials felt like a gallon to me) She was nice.  I’ll give her that much.

So today I had a doctors appointment where I was to have what I thought was a mole removed from my back.  I thought it was a mole, but it turns out that it was actually a skin tag.  I dare you go google the word skin tag.  Make sure you click on images before you google it though, and you my friend are in for a treat.  I swear, Google images is our generations freak show.

Skin tag, abcess, zit, tumor, skin disease, brown recluse, among many others are words you can google if you have any desire to test the boundaries of your stomach lining. Just don’t attempt it after eating.

The removal wasn’t so bad.  The skin tag had grown to the size of a raisin on the middle of my back and I knew that when my cats started batting at it thinking that it was a bug meant that it was time to have it removed.  That and the fact that while in Vegas a few weeks ago I caught several children pointing at it and snickering like I didn’t know it was there.  My friends had a flicking competition while in the pool to see who could get it the most.  So, goodbye mole…or skin tag.  I bled like I had been shot when the doctor cut it off.  Twice in consecutive days I had a needle stuck in my body and I hope that I don’t go three for three.  To treat myself for being a good little sport this evening I bought what I assume is the fattest most disturbing burger on the Red Robin menu.  The Whiskey River burger.  That just screams fatty.  When I was a kid I would ask for a lollipop, but eerily as I age, a nice big fat juicy burger has a better effect than candy on a stick.

Tomorrow night I get to go to my first Cubs game.  Watch for me on TV if you get the game on television.  I will be sitting right next to the guy who created the Fukudometer.  Go Cubbies!