I knew it was supposed to be a “full body scan,” so you think I would have carved out enough “me time” to shave before showing up for my dermatology appointment.
But, I didn’t.
And that was just one of the many follies of my very first trip to the skin doctor.
I was sitting on that paper thingy, wearing that gown that opens in the back waiting for the dermatologist to come in and perform a “full-body scan,” and I finally got around to wondering what in the name of SPF is about to happen? This appointment was part of my “total body care” program that I just decided I am doing as I write this post. We’ll call this “my first step.”
As with my internist, I see the same dermatologist as my husband, who mentioned that the doctor was a “nice guy,” after seeing him just last week.
You know what my husband didn’t mention?
All of this:
- Dr. Johnson is HOT. There’s no other way to put it, but the guy is smoking hot. He had Clark Kent glasses, which made him look studious, but he also had a perfect olive complexion (gah! how cliché for a derm guy to have flawless skin), and a very nice physique below his almost-too-tight scrubs. When he walked in the door, I suddenly realized that I couldn’t tell you the last time I shaved (definitely last year), and it suddenly felt like it mattered. A lot.
- Dr. Johnson is maybe 30 years old. That means he is a decade younger than I am. EXCUSE ME, but when did I get old enough to have a medical doctor at least a decade younger. Did he even go to medical school, because that takes a long time. His youth was so startling to me that I almost felt guilty about noticing how six-packy he was.
- As for the fully body scan? Hey, hubs, I could have used some details on that. For example, that he was going to look up in my butt for moles. I should have realized that was coming when he combed through my scalp with that handheld magnifying light. But still, when Dr. Six Pack said, “Some people get these moles in their buttocks, may I take a look?” I just was not prepared. How come no one ever says, “You’re going to the dermatologist? Did you get your Brazilian wax yet?” Because now that’s going to be a thing I say. A lot. I will Tweet that phrase out at least one a week. People need to know.
- Hubs also didn’t mention that I would have to detail my skin history, which makes sense, but I didn’t see it coming. I swear I felt physical pain as I watched the doctor scrunch up his adorable little face as I told him how I used to slather my body with Crisco oil and lay on my grandmother’s roof. He seemed to think that was not “best practice.” “But, the oil and the black shingles gave me a golden tan for junior prom, Doctor. You remember prom, right? I mean, it was probably only 5 years ago for you.”
The entire appointment lasted about 13 minutes, which was plenty of time to cycle through every emotion known to humankind: the shame of having more hair on my legs than my head; the emotional excitement of being inspected by a hot doctor with his own Epic Dermis; the pride that I could tell him,”yes, hear me, I had a prom date, even though I am old and had to manually lift my breasts so you could see my almost-six-pack abs beneath them.”
Yeah, it was a pretty intense 13 minutes.
Please excuse me, I have to go buy today’s Groupon: 2 for 1 Brazilians.