I thought nothing could possibly be worse than the stitches I endured post-childbirth. But you know? I think having stitches in my armpit outranks the nether regions on the annoyance meter.
How does one injure oneself in the armpit enough to require stitches? Well I am creative on the self-injury scale as evidenced in this entry. But this wound was professionally inflicted by someone of the medical persuasion.
Apparently having inherited the porcelain white Irish complexion of my ancestors, coupled with the habit of sunbathing with such protective measures as baby oil and iodine as practiced by girls brought up in the 70's and 80's, means that now that I am approaching middle age, dermatologists will be taking their proverbial pound of flesh.
Obviously from my armpit.
Like a waterfall in slow motion, Part One
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She wants her planet back. Woolfy – “Shooting Stars” Funny how his voice in
this song made me think he was singing ratchet instead of rapture. I heard
this...
1 year ago
1 comment:
Ouchie! I hope it's benign! I have that same complexion - I fry and peel, fry and peel. Why I thought frying in baby oil or butter would turn out better, I have no idea.
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