A lifetime of poor choices about sun exposure has left the top of my mostly bald head looking like I was voted Prom King at Chernobyl High’s alumni gathering.
So, I go to the dermatologist every 3 months. I don’t rate a visit with the Doctor himself; instead, I get treated by a lovely young physician’s assistant. Sometimes these encounters go very wrong.
Yesterday was a good example.
When Bethany the PA arrived, she chirped . “Good morning Mr. Tom, how are you, I’m happy to see you!” I wanted to say I was happy to see her but wished it was in a different environment where she was not going to blast my skull with liquid nitrogen.
What came out of my mouth was , “Well, I’m not.”
Ouch. That was harsh . She laughed and I’m sure she knew what I meant but I just couldn’t leave it alone.
My mouth said, “I’d rather see you for dinner and a movie.” Meaning: any normal social interaction would be better than medical treatment. But it came out sounding like the verbal stepchild of Mr. Geezer Stalker.
Again, Bethany laughed but there was a decided coolness in the air not accounted for by the freezing air conditioner in the doctor’s office. Bethany’s nurse assistant was slightly hissing in the background.
I’m not sure, but I think I got a lot more liquid nitrogen than usual. Today the top of my head looks like an orangutan with road rash.
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