Fun at the dermatologist!

Okay, well, we all know that there can be some unsavory side effects of pregnancy. One that I expierienced happened to be (brace yourself)... skin tags. Yes, I know, just the very thought makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit , conjuring images of this guy. But, they were small, I promise. I still wanted them OFF OF ME, NOW. So, I happily made an appointment to get them ripped off, or whatever it was I thought they did. Burn them with a hot poker, perhaps. Oh yes, I originally made the apointment for this weird creeping crud on my wrist, but we'll get to that in a moment. (Yes, I am a disgusting creature. I promise I wasn't this way before all these kids.) So I excitedly arrive to the doctor's office thinking they are going to fix me and and all of my horrible skin afflictions, sign in with my troop of children (they told me I could bring all 3) and I finally get to see the woman of my dreams, the lady who will free me from my superflous skins. I asked the nurse how much it would cost to remove skin tags, and she told me it would cost $135. At that moment I considered using a Bic lighter, myself, but I stayed quiet until the doctor arrived. I told the doctor the nurse didn't know how much it would cost to remove skin tags. Yes, I lied, I'm going to Hell. Maybe I am there already, I mean, my idea of hell might include being covered in skin tags. So, she asked me how many I had, and I pointed meekishly to the 3 teensy-weensy little aliens protruding from my flesh. Surely it couldn't cost that much, right? Well, apparently not if I decide not to get numbed beforehand. She left the room and promptly returned with nail scissors. Was she going to give me a pedicure? Was she going to trim my nose hairs? Uh, no, she was headed for tag town. And she went to town, claiming it took too long to numb these things anyway, and we would see if my insurance would cover it, if not, they would just write it off. Yay for me! Rember how I lied? This is me getting punnished for lying, because two of my skin tags were located directly on my eyelid. She just chopped them off like my 3 year old cuts construction paper, thwack,thwack.
I thought it was possible she was the daughter of Dr. Giggles himself.
So, on to the creeping crud, the real reason I was there. It was just excema, but that isn't what I told David. Caught in another lie. See, you need a little backround here. David convinced me about 2 years back that big Bird was originally marketed as a mentally challenged bird. I believed David, I trusted him. Then he told my parents at dinner time one fine evening that I believed, and still believed, that big bird had...issues. SO, as you can see, I needed revenge. Fast forward 2 years, and this just happened to be the perfect opportunity. After my appointment, David called to find out what it was on my wrist, considering I had it for about 4 months and I think he was beginning to fear the worst. The conversation went something like this:
David: How'd it go?
Me: Oh, you won't believe me if I tell you...
David: What is it, tell me?
Me: Well, seriously you won't believe... it's a very rare form of...
David: what, what?
Me: It's a rare form of flesh-eating disease.
David: No...
Me: Yes...
David: NO...
Me: Yes, really.
David: No way.
Me: Yes, I am serious.
David: So, what are they going to do?
Me: Well, they have my wrist wrapped up in this special stuff, they gave me some special cream for it, and you'll never believe...
David: What?
Me: I have to go into a hyperbaric chamber.
David: Oh my God.
By this time I am laughing hysterically, and he still thinks it's because I am somehow traumatized. He told me I should get a second opinion. I had to tell him I was just kidding. That'll teach you to make fun of me and Big Bird, baby.