I woke up this morning and went to the gym, like *most* days. I came home and showered but instead of letting my hair air dry and slapping on some make-up, I dried it. I curled it. I put on real make. Eye shadow, lipstick, blush, girl my eyebrows were on fleek. Or whatever it’s called. They were actually probably crooked, but just humor me. I found some real pants with an actual button. I dragged out a shirt that was a hand-me-down from a hand-me-down (I never knew that was possible for adults, it is). It wasn’t stained and I’ve only walked out of my house in it a couple of times. I had places to go. People were going to see me. And not just eight people under the age of four. REAL ADULTS. I will look fabulous if it kills me. I wish I piled on make-up and curled my hair for something exciting, but no. The dermatologist. But that dermatologist was not going to look at me and think this girl got a circus full of kids at her house with that messy mom bun and strawberry pop-tart stuck to her butt. Nope, not today, fancy successful Doctor Lady.
After a little wait, they called my name and back I went. Enter Evil Nurse. She was actually so nice and totally laughed at me when I told her I googled my moles and came to the conclusion that it’s either the flu or cancer and I want it off now. She laughed, I laughed, then she told me to remove my make-up. Say whaaaaa? Girl I spent like 20 minutes on this make-up which is approximately 19 minutes longer than every other day.
I knew that I wanted them to check my entire body for anything that needed an ax taken to it. But y’all. Let me tell you why this is different than the OB-GYN. Your OB is all up in your business but you’re covered. Do not, I repeat DO NOT go to the dermatologist if you’re modest because she is legitimately going to take her fancy magnifying glass and inspect EVERY INCH OF YOUR BODY. And bonus: the funky mole I came there for is on the side of my butt. Sexy, right? So here we stood in front of God and everybody in my bra and panties while Dr. Fancy Pants examined my body with her nurse in front of me making notes on her iPad. Okay, so I don’t know if she was actually taking notes, she could’ve been on Facebook. But I do know the doctor told her on her way out to get a picture of my mole. You know, the one on my butt. I’m over here like I did not do enough squats for this close up of my gluteus maximus.
But wait, it gets better.
You know those cute little gowns that open in the back, so your boobs are covered? That’s all well and good until you have to lay across that bed on your stomach and have a mole taken off your rear. So there I was, make-up-less with my curled hair, butt shining, getting a most likely completely safe mole cut out.