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2006-09-05 - 10:56 p.m.

MOLEYMOLEYMOLEYMOLEYMOLEY....

I am a moley critter. Now you know.

I gots moles all over me. Little ones, bigger ones...the biggest, a brown spot the exact size, shape, and color of a penny, is nestled dead center on my left hind cheek and serves as a birthmark. It is flush with my skin, not a gollywobbler...a blind man wouldn't (and didn't) know it was there. I'm rather fond of it, it's cute; though it effectively put the kibosh on my wearing white pants.

Mostly, my moles are lovely little beauty marks which I don't mind at all; they're a nice addition to the freckles, and proof that I do, in fact, possess SOME pigment, albeit only a speck. I like my moles....

but then there's the renegades.

The one over my left eyebrow never bothered me at all. At least, not until I was told "hey...you have a booger on your forehead"...TWICE. Vanity wins! Time's up, booger mole gots to go.

Then there's the one on my low back which was once small and cute, a wee little feminine flesh marker on my right hip, never a problem at all until my second pregnancy, when the tiny speck of cuteness suddenly decided it would be happier as a schlong, and began to grow by leaps and bounds until it reached a shameful length. Mole Holmes had to go, too.

Then there was the pitmole. I hate to admit this, but I'm being forthright here, so deal with it: Pitmole, flappy and ugly and living in my right armpit, was not at all jiving with my "I'm beautiful" groove, so I had it whacked. The downside? Lost future opportunities to chase my son with my arm up, telling him it was time for him to "nurse" on it. He'd run in a blind panic, and my sister Wilberteets would nearly stroke out laughing. Fun aside, pitmole was otherwise useless and not a BIT sexy, so I had it plucked away as well.

Finally, I had lopped a thing on my arm that is not a mole but a heinous could-be carcinoma (it's not, l tell you, no matter how much it resembles one, even though the doctor was suspicious, it's not, and even if it was, further digging is all that is required...no chemo, no radiation, no nothin'...it's minor) that clung tenaciously for far too long. All in all, I had four things carved from my delicate body today, and I don't mind telling you it grossed me right out.

Just like you're probably grossed out now. So don't look at this final tidbit, because I probably shouldn't tell it but I find it funny and you KNOW that's my weakness: I told my son that I was having the procedures done today, as I got him ready for school this morning. As he went out to catch his bus, I told him I was going to save the removed pieces and make him a very special fajita.

He was APPALLED.

Jackpot!


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