My toddler Robin ran up to me last night and asked me a question of some sort in Spanish. I smiled nervously and fumbled out the words "Oh, is that Spanish?". But there was an awkward pause as we both knew: At two years old, my daughter was already smarter than me.
I knew she would figure it out eventually, but I thought maybe it would be a calculus problem in high school or something equally menatally challenging. You know, something that even fairly intelligent Dads have been felled by. But, alas, it was a simple Spanish phrase, taught to her by Dora the Explorer. If only Dora had been a pudgy German girl, I might have stood a chance.
"Yes. Spanish." She said and walked off, mildly disappointed. Oh well, it was bound to happen sometime.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Fun with Dermatology
Today I went to the dermatologist for the first time in like 8 years. Merry Christmas, Mom.
I don't know if you guys have been to the dermatologist lately, but apparently you have to be naked and humiliated there now. Maybe it's just the fact that I've aged dramatically and fallen out of shape, but I didn't remember that being the case the last time I went.
If you have to be naked and you look like me, ideally, you would want someone larger, much older and totally unattractive attending you. I feel that dermatologists should take this into account and hire accordingly. It's only polite. You certainly don't want someone your exact age, of the opposite sex, and in better shape than you, which is exactly who came to the waiting room door this morning and called my name.
I went to the back with her, and we sat down. She immediately asked me to describe my moles. This is possibly the worst conversation two humans could ever share with one another. I awkwardly went through the list. She was disturbingly interested and took some notes. She told me to undress and put on some giant burlap boxers, which she handed me. I wasn't sure how these boxers were better than my actual boxers, which seem to handle all my shame-covering needs quite nicely and with a little more dignity, but I complied with her wishes. Before leaving, she told me the way I was supposed to signal the doctor that I was undressed and ready for examination was to leave the door cracked open. Hmm. I spotted the flaw with this suggestion instantly.
Despite my better judgement, I put the burlaps on and cracked open the door, which was pretty awesome. I could hear the nurses walking by the slightly opened door, and could only assume that they'd trained themselves to avoid unspeakable horrors by looking away from the doors as they progressed down the hall. I took a deep breath, held in the gut, and waited.
Finally the doctor came in, announcing himself with a knock at the door. I guess that's polite, but it's a little weird. I thought about asking "Who is it?" but opted for "Come in". I wonder if they ever get "Just a minute", and if that creeps them out.
He instantly blurted "Wow, you're... fair", which I can only assume was the closest polite word he could think of to "translucent." He inspected my speckled skin and recommended a "broad rimmed, panama style hat". Apparently he's a dermatologist by trade, but a milliner at heart.
Now I don't know if you've seen a Whitener in the flesh, but we are a Potato-ish people who grow numerous oddities all over our pale skin. I think the doctor and his assistant were pretty impressed. "There's one there." "And two over there!" They kept calling out. "Yes, I have a lot of them." "There's another one!".
All in all, it was not one of my proudest moments. I have a year to get in shape before my next appointment.
I don't know if you guys have been to the dermatologist lately, but apparently you have to be naked and humiliated there now. Maybe it's just the fact that I've aged dramatically and fallen out of shape, but I didn't remember that being the case the last time I went.
If you have to be naked and you look like me, ideally, you would want someone larger, much older and totally unattractive attending you. I feel that dermatologists should take this into account and hire accordingly. It's only polite. You certainly don't want someone your exact age, of the opposite sex, and in better shape than you, which is exactly who came to the waiting room door this morning and called my name.
I went to the back with her, and we sat down. She immediately asked me to describe my moles. This is possibly the worst conversation two humans could ever share with one another. I awkwardly went through the list. She was disturbingly interested and took some notes. She told me to undress and put on some giant burlap boxers, which she handed me. I wasn't sure how these boxers were better than my actual boxers, which seem to handle all my shame-covering needs quite nicely and with a little more dignity, but I complied with her wishes. Before leaving, she told me the way I was supposed to signal the doctor that I was undressed and ready for examination was to leave the door cracked open. Hmm. I spotted the flaw with this suggestion instantly.
Despite my better judgement, I put the burlaps on and cracked open the door, which was pretty awesome. I could hear the nurses walking by the slightly opened door, and could only assume that they'd trained themselves to avoid unspeakable horrors by looking away from the doors as they progressed down the hall. I took a deep breath, held in the gut, and waited.
Finally the doctor came in, announcing himself with a knock at the door. I guess that's polite, but it's a little weird. I thought about asking "Who is it?" but opted for "Come in". I wonder if they ever get "Just a minute", and if that creeps them out.
He instantly blurted "Wow, you're... fair", which I can only assume was the closest polite word he could think of to "translucent." He inspected my speckled skin and recommended a "broad rimmed, panama style hat". Apparently he's a dermatologist by trade, but a milliner at heart.
Now I don't know if you've seen a Whitener in the flesh, but we are a Potato-ish people who grow numerous oddities all over our pale skin. I think the doctor and his assistant were pretty impressed. "There's one there." "And two over there!" They kept calling out. "Yes, I have a lot of them." "There's another one!".
All in all, it was not one of my proudest moments. I have a year to get in shape before my next appointment.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
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