vanity, fair to middling

Yesterday I went to the dermatologist for my annual checkup. It was only my second visit to this dermatologist, an exacting fellow with an Irish name and unnaturally smooth hands. “What are you here for?” he asked. I told him I wanted him to see if any of my freckles or beauty marks looked worrisome. I've got fair Anglo-Irish skin. “And oh,” I said, “I’ve got this thing on my scalp that will not heal.” I thought it might be cancer. I always have a cancer scare going. The last time I saw this doctor, I was worried about a growth on my thigh.

I parted my hair for his unnaturally smooth hands. “I know what that is,” he told me. He said a word I never thought would be attached to me: psoriasis. I emitted a sound – I don’t think it was a proper word. “The heartbreak,” he joked. He told me he'd give me drops to apply every night. He assured me if it spread there were things we could do. All I could think of was this wonderful young man who works at a hot springs and who claims the soaks help his psoriasis. I did not think my case would come to that.

I noticed a stash of pamphlets for Botox sitting on a counter in the examing room. “Are you interested?” he asked. No, no, no. I told him I was too busy for vanity. “Vanity’s a bad word for a good thing,” he observed. “What I meant” I replied – always complain, always explain, that’s my motto -- “was that I am too busy to get around to doing plenty of things, not that vanity is a bad thing.” If I had time, I would indulge my vanity, which would be a good thing.

Coincidently, last night I discovered a Botox-related sweeps, for a trip to New York. It comes with a consultation, not a treatment. To enter, click HERE.