Spot the Shoes

I'm not sure which topic to write about: more new shoes or all the damn spots popping up all over my "now over 50" skin, so I think I'll write about both.

In case you are keeping score, my wellness check, complete with cholesterol test, is T minus three days.  And, yes--I've been eating ice cream.  I gave up after four days without it.  On the fifth day, I cracked.  I couldn't keep my car out of the drive through at the King of Burgers.  Besides, in the four days I stopped eating ice cream, I gained three pounds.  Now that I've had ice cream for a few days, I've lost 1.5 pounds.

My body was meant to be run on sugar.  Why mess with it if it ain't broken?

So, the wife says this morning that she wants to go to a local sporting good store today as she has a coupon for $15.00 off any pair of shoes.  I should have had her duct tape me to the kitchen chair, because once I hear the words "shoe shopping," I am no longer in control of my being.  I wasn't going to go along but it was on the way home from church so I figured we should stop on our way.  It was way too hot out to stay in the car (we're talking 90+ degrees out there), so I couldn't use avoidance techniques.

You know what happened, right?  She walked out empty-handed and I walked out with $110 gym shoes.  See how she is?

It's just like yesterday....we went to Sam's because she wanted to see if they had solar garden lights.  She walked out empty-handed and I walked out with $163 of stuff that I had not previously needed or wanted.

My new shoes are supposed to inspire me to break into gentle jogs while walking.  I really want to get to the point I can once again enjoy a 5 or 10K without vomiting.  I miss running.  I'm really slow but I'm not in a hurry, so I'm okay with that.  All they've motivated me to do at this point is spend a lot of money on them.

At least I'll look good while throwing up on the bike path.

(For those of you wondering, I haven't run since the 1990's, so I've had lots of time to miss it.)

As for my skin, well!  I am mortified and flummoxed.  Actually, I'm more than mortified--I am uber mortified. I am covered with spots.  Age related spots.  Ugly age related spots.  Ugly, weirdly shaped and colored, surfacing every thirty seconds age spots. Looking at my dad, I knew I'd have some "growths," but I wasn't expecting so many of them so early.  All those years in the sun--shame on me.  I'd like to think I'd still have all these spots and growths and what nots whether or not I was in the sun, but I'm guessing those mega sunburns did nothing for my largest organ.

One of my sports--on my forearm--seemed to be on its own mission.  It used to be flat and like a large, bizarre freckle.  Overnight, it morphed into this red, raised, half crusty warty-mole-growth thing.  I didn't know what to think of it.  I didn't think an age spot could get inflamed or changed--I assumed they all just lay around, making everyone look older.  I stared at for three weeks.  It changed every day, I kid you not.  I finally called my dermatologist:

Me:  "I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. SkinTag to have a thing on my arm looked at."

Office: "Have you been here before?"

Me:  "Yes, I had a mole mapping and mole removed."

(Bet you didn't need to know that.)

Office: Takes name, agrees I've been there.  "Okay, we're setting appointments for the end of October right now--"

I cut her off.

Me: "October? It's August!"

Office: "Yes, ma'am. The first appointment I have is at the end of October.  Would you like me to schedule you?"

Me: "So, I have this thing growing on my arm and I can't get it looked at until October?"

Office: "I'm sorry. That's the next appointment."

Me: "I have no idea what this thing is.  None of the assistants have openings? I mean, this thing is changing daily."

Office: "Well, we could put you on a waiting list--"

I cut her off again.

Me: "Forget it.  Where else can you refer me? I really don't want to wait two months to see what this thing is. Where does Dr. SkinTag refer people?"

Suddenly, a miracle happens.  As soon as I mention I want a referral....

Office: "Well, we can get you in Monday at 8 AM."

Um, what part of October is that?

I got my appointment.

Turns out it was one of those funky keratosis things that old people get, irritated to the point it got all befuckled.  Google Image that word. (Keratosis, not befuckled.) You'll see all sorts of ugly, old people skin growths.  Brown, red, pink, black, smooth, lumpy, poopy, big, bigger, ginormous, exponentially multiplying before your eyes. I am very happy to report these are benign growths.  I can't really complain when I thin of that. Ugly and benign is ALWAYS 100 million percent better than cute and malignant, don't you think?

Looking at my skin, I have to admit that I have a lot of these keratosis things, mainly on my arms, some developing on my legs (surprisingly to me, none yet on my hands).  Most of them look like flat, brown, happy age spots.  Others are slightly raised and uglier than not. (No offense to any of my keratosis babies, but you're ugly.) She sliced and burned that puppy right off, per my request.  Why the hell keep it when you can have it removed in 30 seconds?

What else did the doctor have to say?

She let me know that with each passing birthday, I'd get many more "gifts."

In other words, I should hang on for the ride because I'm gonna be covered with chocolate chips.

Gifts, my ass.

She added that they tend to run in families and asked if anyone in my family has such growths.

I blame my father.  I may have gotten other skin issues from the maternal peeps, but the chocolate chips definitely are a paternal thing.

Maybe I should think of them as kisses instead of chocolate chips.  Little kisses from my father.

I feel better already.

You know, I could get some tattoos to cover the spots but I'd rather be able to see my father's little kisses than blur them out with tacky colors.

If I start to feel badly about my aging skin, I'll just go have a bowl of ice cream and then go for a walk in my new shoes.  If that doesn't work, I can always go buy another pair of shoes.

If that doesn't work, I'm gonna have to go get some more tattoos.  One must do what one must do....

Kiss kiss, a spot like this.
Keratosis brings me bliss.
Little age spot, not so bad,
Makes me think of my spotted dad.
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