#skintags

Something no one ever mentions about growing up is the sudden appearance of skin tags.

I shouldn't be surprised.  Everyone older than me has them.  (And unfortunately for you, I am the sort of person who would notice.)  Still, it intrigues me that my body is celebrating age thirty-two by sprouting extra bits of tiny round flesh on my eyelids, nose, arms, and... other parts.

Because...why???

Instead of growing taller as a whole, my body will now grow out in just a few places?

Because plucking, picking, painting, shampooing, flossing, brushing, scrubbing, and self-breast-examming isn't enough maintenance -- I should throw in general worry about pimples that won't pop?

Speaking of pimples, what's with those?  How come I'm still getting them?  Shouldn't one skin issue come to a nice, gratifying stop before the next one begins?

Tonight I discovered the ultimate slap to the face.  On my face.  A pimple growing BENEATH a skin tag. What the what?  Right on the bridge of my nose.  I could tell it was a pimple because it hurt like one, but I knew it was a skin tag too because I've been staring that thing down for like four months now.

I let it sit all morning, but after a hot shower it was throbbing and I wanted it GONE.  (I know I know.  You're "supposed" to leave these things alone.  But this is from the same people who tell you to wear sunscreen when you're in the sun.  Whatever.)  So I tried to pop it.  Ow!  Bleepity-bleep!  I tried a few different angles.  Nothing.  All I managed to do was irritate my skin and decorate it with little fingernail dents.

It was time to call in the Big Boys: my sewing needle.  I first sanitized it wiped it on my shirt, then set to stabbing my raw forehead.  Unfortunately that little sucker was hard to locate, buried there beneath the vastness of this particular mound of unwanted flesh.  I had to stab it in three different places to get anything to come out.  Which means that my irritated, acne-dotted face is now also bleeding in three different places.

That feels like success to me.

Courtney - 1.  Skintagpimple - 0.  Bring it on, aging!

My Box

14 inches by 18 inches, just large enough to hold

My childhood collection of tiny elephants: ceramic, wood, and plastic;

My high school yearbook, graduation cap, diploma;

The class photos of all 13 years and those of dozens of friends;

A wood-carved camel my grandmother brought back from Egypt;

A Goofy-eared hat from Disney World;

A drawing my first boyfriend made for me;

And notes: passed to me in class, stuck under windshield wipers,

Wrinkled and rain-stained and worn.

I lugged my box to college with me, and wore the Goofy ears

To a party.  They’re under someone’s couch now, I believe.

During a move my first daughter found my box, and asked

What are all those elephants for? 

To play with, I answered, and she spent the afternoon

Constructing a circus. 

I pulled out my yearbook to compare senior photos with her.

She looks like me in the eyes, but her ears are her Dad’s.

When her two sons stayed at my house for a week,

They sorted through my box in search of crayons. 

They thought the notes looked like scratch paper,

The kind they were free to create with.

When I moved to Twelve Oaks, the kids came home

To pack my belongings.  We spent the morning folding

clothes, putting books into boxes, cleaning out the fridge.

My box wasn’t full anymore, so my stationery was added to it:

A box of assorted cards, 6 pens, and a book of stamps,

As well as the contents of my scarf drawer.

When they buried me, eleven grandchildren and two

Great-grandchildren sorted out and divided up my room.

One little girl tucked my Egyptian camel deep within

Her sequined purse, and one preteen boy thought

My graduation cap would be perfect for his Halloween costume.

Then the youngest child, ruffling through my box, asked,

Why did Grandma keep all this junk?

His mother hushed him, swallowed the lump in her throat,

Then explained in a voice mixed with respect and awe,

Honey, Grandma was a very practical person

And I’m sure she had her reasons.