not ready for my close-up, mr. demille (lyn)

I’m meeting Alexander tonight to see a screening of Horrible Bosses.  We decide on separate dinners, as he will be coming from work, and me from home.  I’ll have an easy, low-cal tuna sandwich and Pringles-light.

I get an email from a BAFTA representative asking if I can do the intro for tonight’s movie.  I’ve never done one before, but since I’m now on the Screening Committee, it’s something I should do.  I say, “Of course,” and then start angsting over what to wear and what to say.  My grey knee-length crinkly skirt (the one Robyn hates but that I always get complimented on), some shoes with height, and maybe a grey and white top.  These are not my most slimming clothes, but they’re comfortable and appropriate.

Before meeting Alexander, I visit my dermatologist to have an ingrown hair removed from my groin area.  It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as anticipated.  But while I’m there, I point out two, barely visible, tiny rough patches on my face.  One on my nose and the other on my lip.  The doctor examines them with a low tech, high-powered magnifying glass and concludes they are pre-cancerous keratosis.  "I’ll just freeze them off,” she says.  I have had this done before; it hurts.  A lot.

The doctor takes out something that looks like a blowtorch and aims it at my face.  As she’s doing it, I’m wondering why this has never appeared as a form of torture on 24.  I feel like my face is being scorched with fire.

I get home and see two highly unattractive red marks on my face, and a swollen lip.  I look like I've just finished a boxing match.

At least I won't have to worry about anyone noticing my non-slimming skirt tonight!