Today I'm Fulfilling My Midlife Aging Dream... One Baby Step At A Time

Yes, I'm excited beyond belief. Today I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon to begin removing the tiny little red spider veins around my ankles. I mean when you walk around on your ankles all day, every day, with flat Hobbit Feet, there's going to have to be some major overhaul work to be done on those babies at some point in time. That time, Dear Readers, has arrived.

Frankly, I'm having this done because I'm too big a weenie to have anything I really need to have done, done. I'd really rather have a breast reduction to eliminate the deep canyons that have been carved into my shoulders after roughly 44 years of trying to hold up these heavy, cumbersome boulders. However, I hear that it really hurts and I'm just a damned weenie.

So, I'm taking the easy road. One baby step at a time.

Next week, I'm really going into uncharted territories. Oh yeah! I've made an appointment with the podiatrist to try and remove the 36 year old twisting, winding plantar's wart I have in the ball of my right foot. I've decided that 36 years is long enough to suffer. Notice that I used the word try (as in remove). I'm not even certain that one can get rid of a plantar's wart after so many years of infestation. The Wart & I have been together for so long, I can't even imagine what life would be like without such random ice-pick-stabbing-pain on a daily basis.

However, Mr. S has informed me that listening to me rub my feet together is something akin to the Song of the Cicadas (locusts). Yes, it's that bad. He claims he can't handle stereo... you know, me inside the house and the locusts outside. It's apparently too much for the poor man. He also claims to be growing weary of listening to me scream in pain, clutching my right foot. I don't hold that against him. I'm far more sick of it than he is. So, I've agreed to see the Doc next week. I wonder if I'll have separation anxiety like babies have with their mothers. I mean, we've been together almost as many years as Mr. Snooty & I.

I wonder if, once The Doc has extracted the corkscrew monster from the ball of my foot, he will allow me to take the creature with me. Weird, you say? No way! I want to torture that sucker or keep it in a jar of formaldehyde, on display, for all to see. Hey... I could charge all the neighborhood kids a quarter just to see it. Like some kind of weird Freak Show and I'd be forever after known as the scary neighborhood Wart Lady. Or I could make a fabulous collage with The Wart as my focal point. And win an artistic interpretation award. WoW! I'm thinking the possibilities might be limitless.

Hmmmm..... Actually, all I really want is to have a life relatively free of pain. I want to be rid of the little Stephen King Devil who dwells within my foot & constantly stabs at it with a dull ice pick, often awaking me from a deep sleep. I want to turn the tables and stab that little devil for a while. No. Wait. I want to stab him for the next 36 years and see how he likes it. Little demon. In. My. Foot.

The oddest part of all this is that for 36 years Podiatrists & other doctors have been telling me what I have is a callous. Ummm... Callouses don't bleed when cut, so I do an occasional self-surgery (so that I can walk) and it bleeds every time. I'm too big a weenie to cut even slightly deep. I've had the "callous" surgically removed six times, but it always finds its way back. Like a bad penny. Callouses don't do that. Where did those guys go to Medical School anyway? Dementia University?

I've no doubt that you'll all be forever grateful to me for not sharing my pictures of said Wart On Foot. I won't even share the freebie pics of other Demon Warts found on Google. (Trust me.. they are deeply scary) You're welcome. I wouldn't wish this on the person I despise most in the world.