growing old, ungracefully.

i went to the dermatologist yesterday for a little mole check up (you should go annually by the way. it's painless and it takes about 5 minutes max. plus...free samples!) i just wanted to make sure that the mole on my arse that is slowly beginning to resemble the girl on trucker mudflaps isn't cancerous. her breasts keep getting larger...

nope. all is well.

i figured while i was there, i'd ask dr. s. about my skin care regimen...you know...am i doing everything i can to prevent skin cancer and aging? what cleanser do you recommend? is it true that margaritas, when ingested daily, act as natural exfoliants, from the inside out? etcetera. he told me the skin on my face and body was "no great tragedy" (i'm sorry...is that a compliment? please advise.) then he gave the me the typical schpiel...

stay out of the sun. if you are not a vampire, and therefore can't/won't do that then wear big wide-brimmed hats a la camilla parker-bowles and loads of sunblock. i told him i prefer Barbie sunblock. "it goes on purple, slowly blends in, and it smells like grape kool-aid!"

he ignored me.

"the most important thing you can do is stay out of the sun. if you want to start using a cream, i can recommend something as well."

of course i want you to recommend something! i'm a product whore, dr. s. have you seen my bathroom cabinet? furnished by ikea and duane reade.

"there's an excellent new product called Expensive-as-All-Hell that clinical tests have shown, in addition to preventing sun damage, reverses it as well."

"but doc, i say. do you really think i'm ready for a cream like this?"

meaning: am i really old and droopy enough to need this stuff? surely, i am not. surely, he's suggesting i should start using this stuff in another 4 or 5 years. not now.

right, doc?

doc?

doc?

he smiles a benevolent smile.

"of course you're ready."

i remained calm.

sort of.

*this little vignette reminds me of a quote from Olympia Dukakis's character in Steel Magnolias when Shelby, the ingenue in the play, reports having discovered crow's feet:

"Shelby. Time marches on, and eventually you realize it's marchin' right across your face."

would it be rude to ask Mr. T to wear slippers? these combat boots are killing my complexion.