So Long

I will tell you one thing I do not miss: the wart that mysteriously appeared on my right pinky. I was ashamed of it. It made me feel like a witch. It is frozen and gone, and I have never gazed at my pinky with more love.

I will tell you something I do miss -- my moles.

I've always had two distinct ones: one on my tum and one more on the bikini line area. They tend to get in the way, but I never mind them until someone comments on them. Which is more often than you'd think, if you were, like me, raised with manners.

I was at the park lying down in the sunshine when someone again told me I should "really get that checked out." And I felt ashamed again, and I resolved to get rid of it, this freakish thing that people always commented on.

I didn't like the dermatologist. She talked to me like I was stupid and was impatient with me, so I didn't ask the questions I wanted to -- like, Will it scar?

She took them off with little ceremony. I couldn't watch. She told me I wouldn't stop bleeding.

And then I came home and thought about them being gone and felt bereft. I missed them, already. And it made me sad to think that I'd just cut off a part of myself for a reason that wasn't even particularly good.

When I told an old boyfriend what I'd done, he said, "Oh no! But I always liked those." And so did I.

They're still healing. I wonder what kind of mark they'll make after all.