DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE

I got some of my senile keratosis blobs scraped off Tuesday, four to be exact. My doctor called them “horns.” If that’s the case, judging from the number of them on my back, I’m the horniest person this side of the Mississippi. After he removed them he cauterized the spots and put Band-aids on them, but he warned me that they might “ooze” for a few days.

When I got home, Big Bore asked me how it went.

“Oh, it was kind of like when you take a razor blade to the glass top on the oven and scrape away the crud that’s burned on it.”

He made one of those wincing faces like he was uncomfortable. “Gee. You didn’t have to tell me THAT much.”

“Well, you asked how it went.”

"That's right. Not how they were removed."

Later in the day, the oozing began. “You’ve got a bloody spot on the back of your shirt,” BB advised me.

“Oh, will you check it for me?” I asked, raising up my shirt.

Surprisingly, Dr. Bore didn’t balk at the task. All he had to do was put a bigger Band-Aid over the smaller, oozy one. He was even game for reinforcing the other three that weren’t oozing yet. What a true friend.

By evening, I was oozing through the second Band-Aids and the two shirts I was wearing. Yesterday morning, --“You look like you’ve been shot in the back,” BB said. He was right. Buckshot.

After I showered last night, “Paging Dr. Bore!!“ it was time to yank off the old saturated Band-Aids and replace them with fresh ones. I sat on the bed putting on my best dramatic interpretation of agony, my face shoved into a pillow. “Oweee, oweee! You have a bullet I can bite?”

I was ooze-free this morning, so I think the worst is over. At least it doesn’t look like my back had a nosebleed overnight. Dr. Bore will perform the same medical procedure tomorrow night in a follow-up appointment. It is good to know that in a pinch I have someone who will tolerate my senile histrionics--horny or not.