Here Comes the Sun Damage

It's a good thing I'm not working right now. This period of unemployment sabbatical leaves me with loads of free time to do important things, such as:

1. Catch up on the "The Walking Dead" (everyone was right: it IS awesome!!)
2. Notice how filthy the baseboards are
3. Ignore the filthy baseboards
4. Think about working out
5. Think about writing a book
6. Think about learning a new language
7. Think about doing volunteer work
8. Train my cats how to use an expensive new self-cleaning litter box
9. Clean up after my cats refuse to use the new litter box
10. Study my skin for new Suspicious Moles

I know what you're thinking. Why did they have to kill Shane in "The Walking Dead"?!! Oh, you're not? So it's just me then. Fine. Whatever. You've just had more time to go through the Five Stages of Grief. Give me my space. (But did you SEE him with his shirt off? Just checking....)

Here's what you may be thinking instead: Ms. CrankyPants, what's UP with the moles? What are you, some kind of freckle- and mole-ridden freak? Because if so, ewww, and Shane (even Zombie Shane) would be totally turned off. In response to your extremely rudely worded question, YES, I am a freckle- and mole-ridden freak, although I prefer "babe" to "freak," thank you very much.

Hey, we haven't played Can You Guess What THIS Is Supposed to Be? in a while! Let's play!

Hmmm, this one's tough. A piece of moldy cheese? A chicken breast that has fallen on a filthy floor? 

NO! It's an extreme closeup of my forearm. Note the almost blindingly white skin, and the overall mottled appearance. That, friends, is the result of genes, heritage, and years spent cavorting in the sun in tropical countries, with no thoughts of sunscreen, skin cancer, or leathery, hideous-looking skin.

As the daughter of a foreign service officer, I spent a significant portion of my childhood in Brazil and Costa Rica. When my family and I lived in Brazil, I was pretty little and at the mercy of my parents, who may have insisted I wear sunscreen. By the time we moved to Costa Rica, I was a teenager and convinced that having a tan was cool. My pale, sickly skin was decidedly not cool. So I never wore sunscreen, and when I went to the beach with friends, I'd lie out like a beached white whale, hoping desperately to get tanned, pronto! Of course, that never happened. Instead, I'd get burned, pronto! And then I'd peel like a diseased grape. Not cool. Did that stop me? No, sir! I persisted in this foolish quest, hoping to overcome my genes and heritage, and magically transform into a bronzed babe. Silly, silly girl.

So now I'm paying the price. Highly Suspicious Moles lurk everywhere. I've had a couple on my back removed. Hey, remember this?

These hushpuppies are quite similar in appearance to a particularly revolting mole on my back I had removed recently. 

And, just last week, I had a dark and tiny new mole on my toe removed. I know new moles are a Bad Sign. Indeed, it was. The dermatologist called me while I was in a movie with my nephew. As a considerate movie-goer, I'd turned off my phone, but I saw that I had a message and who it was from. Horrors. I crouched furtively in the back row, trying desperately to hear the message over the movie blasting all around me. I couldn't hear the specifics, but I got the gist: mole biopsy not good. Call us back.

ShitShitShit! By the time I got out of the movie, the dermatologist's office was closed. So I had to wait until the next day to talk to someone. Turns out, I was lucky. The biopsy revealed abnormal cells that, unchecked, could have turned into a melanoma. So on one hand, YAY! I'm relieved. On the other hand, AAAGH! How many other such abnormal spots are there on my hideously mole-riddled skin? Yes, I have already made my annual skin check appointment. In the meantime, with all my free time, don't think for a second I won't be scrutinizing every last spot. And learning a new language, while cleaning the baseboards.