Little Germans. Germen.

The dermatologist office was okay. It was full of old people: I shared the waiting room with the woman who owned the first building I ever lived in [she was a thousand!] and half of a famous duo from a popular syndicated radio show.

It took forever. Mostly, I spent my ENTIRE HOUR WAIT in the waiting room looking at this picture:

You can't really tell, but there's a little speech bubble right above the girl's head that says TIMMAH!.

Once in, the four-foot-tall doctor explained that while she wouldn't necessarily worry...if it was HER, SHE wouldn't want to walk around with 'A thing on her face'. So she cut it off. And burned my skin. And gave me a bandaid.

And. The End.

[I didn't even humiliate myself this time!]