Tag, You’re It!

Back when I thought it made me cool to do such things, I watched an obscure, British dark comedy film called “How To Get Ahead in Advertising“.  It’s one of those movies that makes you laugh despite yourself.  A plot device was quite strange: the lead character develops a boil (while working on a boil remedy advertising campaign), and the boil comes to life and starts talking to him. 

I got to thinking about this yesterday.  Let me back up a little.

I have several skin tags;  in fact, I have matching tags in each armpit.  They are harmless (so I’m told), but they bug the heck out of me, just being there.  Lintilla has offered to cut them off for years, but I have an aversion to being cut in any way, as well as an aversion to pain, no matter how fleeting.

So, a couple of weeks ago, she offers to try a remedy (on just one of them, as a test) her dermatologist once told her about: tie a thread around the base to cut off the blood supply. The theory says that the tag will eventually “starve” and fall off.  Well, it’s been a couple of weeks, and I think we’re getting to the tipping point.

It’s now swollen, red, purple, and a couple of other colors.  It hurts when I move a certain way.  I’m not sure it’s going anywhere.  I can’t change my mind, there’s no way to get to the tightly tied thread without cutting the tag itself.  And THAT would make a bloody mess.

I’m thinking about naming it.  Harold, or Bill, or Fred (just to annoy ACK).

I’m going to give it one more week.  But the time is coming when I have to get in a swimsuit for the company picnic, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to keep my arms below the shoulders.  So, I may have to run to the dermatologist.  I can deal with HIM causing me pain, it’s my wife doing it that I can’t abide.  Don’t ask me why; it’s just part of my weirdness.

But before long, Fred’s gotta go.


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