Skin tags.
I know you don’t want to talk about them, but we have to. You have the little protruding skin globs on your neck, in your armpits and in the groin area right where your panty elastic rubs. I know, I know, so did I, honey.
They say skin tags often grow where there is a lot of friction. That totally explains the groin area in my case. We’re talking friction and we’re talking heat. If you stop to talk with me when I’m exercising on a hot day, don’t be alarmed if you smell pork roast.
I had two skin tags that were so irritating, I was seriously considering giving up underwear altogether. And they felt huge, like golf balls. In a blurry, over-caffeinated moment I allowed myself to wonder whether I might be sprouting testicles.
One day I was chatting online with a friend and mentioned that I had some skin tags that I wanted to have removed, but I hated to have to pay for a doctor visit beings as how I’m unemployed and all.
She said, “Cut them off yourself! Go online for directions and just do it.”
Naturally I stopped everything and did a search: removing skin tags. Turns out she was right. People do it. And the procedure is simple. Pull the sucker out with fingers or tweezers, and cut it off. Who knew?
So I gathered some surgery tools and proceeded to the bathroom. I assembled cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, Band-Aids and triple antibiotic cream. I sterilized my haircutting scissors with the alcohol, took a deep breath and reviewed the surgery instructions: Grab onto it and cut it off. Got it. OK. I made short work of the couple of tags under my arms and one on my neck, snip, snip.
Now it was time for the serious stuff. Under the watchful eyes of my surgical team, Zoe and Jigs, I hiked my leg up onto the counter and examined the area of interest with the largest hand mirror I own.
Where were the golf balls? How could something so tiny cause so much discomfort?
I had a hand for grasping the offending skin tag, a hand for cutting it off, but where was the hand for holding the mirror? If I couldn’t use the mirror, I still needed another hand to hold my stomach out of the way so I could see what I was doing.
It seemed a fairly personal project to involve a neighbor, however well-meaning.
I looked at my surgical team. They blinked back and cocked their heads as if to say, “How about we go have a snack and think about it?”
But no one stops for snacks in the middle of an operation. I pulled out a drawer and propped the hand mirror at a perfect angle. Perfect. The dogs wagged their tails in appreciation of Mommy’s resourcefulness.
After the procedure it took every ounce of self control I have to talk myself out of a tummy tuck while I had the scissors sterilized and was basking in the glow of surgical success.
I’m not recommending this process to anyone. It worked for me, but you have to decide for yourself whether it is worth the risk of an infection that could drive you to the doctor where you will have to explain how you were trying to save money by performing your own outpatient surgery.
If you should decide to try it, though, my crack surgical team is available for consultation and support.
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