“Is it that large patch of discoloration near your eye that brings you in today” she asks, my dermatologist, when I tell her I’m having a problem with my skin.

What did she just say, I think to myself.   And then I laughed, because that’s what I do when I’m surprised by what someone says.

“Ummm, no,” I giggle.  “I didn’t even know I had a large patch of discoloration near my eye.”

And then, silence.  The awkward kind.

“You do,” she says a little too loudly.  “I can prescribe a cream, if you’re interested, which should make that dark patch vanish in a jiffy.”

Who says ‘in a jiffy’ these days, I think to myself.   I mean, the Clampetts might have said it as they loaded up their stuff and moved to Beverly.  Hills, that is. 

But I doubt it.

“Well, I guess I am interested,” I say sarcastically, “since it’s so obvious and everything .”

Her lips are stretched so tight across her teeth, I think her smile is going to snap.  But it doesn’t.  So, I put her out of her misery by telling her the real reason behind my visit:  skin colored bumps. 

I’ve mentioned the little bump family who call my face home before on my blog, and if you want to make chocolate chip cookies and visit them here, you can leave your baked goods behind as a housewarming gift.  They’ll love it.  I should know.  I mean, they’ve lived with me for 2 years now and no dermatologist in Kansas has been able to evict them.  But when a friend of mine suggested a ‘great dermatologist,’ I hoped she would finally be the one to toss my bump family out on the street for good.

“Oh, I see them,” she says as she examines my cheek with a magnifying lens larger than my head.  “They’re little cysts.”  She goes on to tell me the cysts are not dangerous, but they are genetic and they’ll probably multiply more , more, and more as I age.

Great.

“Since you tried a prescription cream for 6 months with no results,” she says,”there’s only one thing to do:  extraction.”

30 minutes, 15 extractions, and 1 bloody face later, I walk out of the dermatologist’s office thinking the day couldn’t possible get any worse.

But, it did.  It so totally did.

I gained 2 pounds even though I worked out 2 hours a day, 6 days a week this week, and ate nothing but cardboard and vegetables for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

I pulled a muscle in my back and I can’t turn my head or breathe with out searing pain shooting up my back and neck, which renders me completely incompetent of caring for my 2 and 3 year old sons.

My phone was then stolen from my favorite superstore of all time, Target.  I set my Blackberry by the sink so I could wash my hands and when I realized I left it in the bathroom, I returned to retrieve it, but it was already gone.  And no one saw anything.  I literally left it there all of 2 minutes.

I then went to pick up the cream the dermatologist said would cure the large patch of discoloration I didn’t even know existed and discovered insurance doesn’t pay for it.  The pharmacist informs me my insurance company considers the cream cosmetic.  The cost:  $192.00.

I didn’t buy it.

It was a rough day today.  A rough one.