We grow with age.  Kind of like a box of cereal states, "contents may have settled in shipping", we too get shook down some in both body and mind over time. The fluff gets pushed away.  The air gets removed for better vacuum sealing.

We shed some of our insecurities, make a bit of peace with where we know we missed the mark, finally realize how fast life really goes, come to be more familiar with how we are wired and who we are, don't take ourselves or even others quite as serious, finally have the time to just be who we are, the distractions lessen, we savor people more than things more readily, come to grips that nothing is really in our control, understand that the somedays are far less in numbers than they used to be, and the bottom begins to drop out of our bodies and there isn't one damn thing can be done to halt it. 

Ultimately the physical perplexities and unwelcomeness of age then refers us back to the fact that we aren't in control of anything and there are less somedays than there used to be!

If you would have asked me 10 years ago if I would ever have plastic surgery of any kind - a nip, a tuck, a peel, a procedure to plump, pull, smooth, make something smaller or bigger - I would have said NO!  Today, though I have no desire to have Lisa Rinna's lips, Joan River's face, or Dolly Parton's anything, I would most definitely entertain the non-invasive anything to quell the tide of decline. 

I don't like that I think like that.  How vain is that!  I have always thought that my waters run very deep, that I am not a shallow person.  Based on this issue alone I guess I am only one inch deep. Do I think I am only physical?  Is my physical appearance all that defines who I see myself as or who I think others see me as?  If there were a fountain of youth for beauty I would possibly sell my soul for it some days! [Please note the ridiculousness of that statement and take it for such!]

I went to the dermatologist today.  When I called a couple of weeks ago to set the appointment the woman on the other end asked,  "What do you want to see the doctor about?"  My mind whirled [oh geez how to say what I really want!]  "Well, I have things on my body that I don't want there!  I hate age."

The doctor walked in the room introduced himself and asked what I was there to see him about.  I don't like to waste time, energy or talk around the barn.  I launched into a small list of things on my body that I either wanted his opinion on what it was or his expertise to remove it.  He laughed at my direct approach to my skin age issues.

He checked the small white bony piece just at the inside edge of my nostril with his superhero magnifying Star Trek glasses.  I had to push down a huge laugh.  His too close proximity to me, and the fact that he was studying my nostril in high definition, just about made me get hysterically giggly.  From far away no one's nostrils are beautiful, but up close I could only imagine what he was seeing!  If I was overly self-conscious I best get over it fast!

After my jokes, his ambiguous reasons on why I had this or that, I asked where he went to medical school and did his residency.  We talked about his kids, wife, that he chose dermatology because he just didn't like most other parts of medicine - some grossed him out.  Well, that was it.  His blunt honesty caused a roar from me!  He told me about a professor he had in med school and that he was going to try a small procedure he had learned from him on me.  I told him, in a very sarcastic tone,  I was glad he could utilize something he had learned.  He caught it.

We got back to discussing the white bony thing at the edge of my nostril.  He declared it a very, very small cyst.  I said, "Take it off!"  He smiled as he responded, "It will hurt like hell.  No one can really notice it.  They only see your beauty."  I explained with responses to patients like that he wasn't going to make any money but would be well liked. 

I told him I was extremely tough, even going so far as to tell him to remove it without numbing it.  He numbed it anyway.  Two shots into the cartilage of the end of your nostril does indeed hurt like hell.  He worked his little tool and eventually extracted a small minuscule cyst which he held out to me on a piece of gauze. 

It bled like crazy.  I didn't care.  I didn't care that it hurt like hell either.  I was though grateful that yet another small battle with some strange growth that happens with aging had been extracted. 

Did I look younger yet?  Well, at least people would stop telling me I had something on my nose. That is part of what I hate about aging - things grow all on their own - ear hairs, nose hairs, chin hairs, eyebrow hairs, moles, skin tags, age spots, wrinkles.

As the doctor got ready to leave the room he asked if I would be coming back for another appointment or if I wanted to just come as needed.  I assured him I would no doubt be back when something else grew in my magical and fertile aging garden.

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