Goodbye, unsightly thing on my wrist!

I’m talking about the huge scabby mole, which just got scraped—which, I’m sorry, is just as icky as it sounds—and is being sent off to an undisclosed location filled with people who spend lots of time looking at mole scrapings—which, I’m sorry, would be a terrible name for a band—and we’re all eagerly waiting to hear their determinations—which, I’m sorry, had better not be delivered in band song.

I’m not, for the record, talking about the huge pink bump, which is called a pisiform (which is a weak band name), which is defined as a “knobbly, sesamoid bone” (which is a clumsy band name), which in my case has anyways been so exaggerated in size that it’s made it uncomfortable to wear a watch or a gladiator wrist cuff (WHICH I CALL DIBS ON AS A BAND NAME).

masc4masc

I’m sorry but I went to a wedding reception after tonight’s Elf the Musical performance was all applauded and bowed and as I was getting dressed I realized I had exactly one ironed shirt and it was a difficult shade of blue which is probably why it was my last ironed shirt in the first place but I was out of time so I had to build my entire evening’s reception-appropriate ensemble around my difficult-shade-of-blue-last-ironed-shirt ... AND I KILLED IT. But nobody took my picture so I had to do it myself when I got home and YES I HAVE A PICTURE OF CINDERELLA IN MY BEDROOM SHUT UP.