It's that time again...

Time for my annual, extremely thorough skin check.  For the last hour, I've been busy scrubbing, plucking, clipping, lotioning, deodorizing, sanitizing, fragrancing, brushing, and shaving every body part, as if that will somehow make the whole process less mortifying.  The doctor checks my blood pressure every time and tells me that it's high again.  I try to explain that HE make it that way.  The fact that he went to high school with my husband only compounds the humiliation of his investigating parts of me that even my husband hasn't.  No piece of scalp is left unturned, nor the cracks between my toes, insides of my ears, or anywhere else.  I think this time when he cautions me about my blood pressure, I might say, "How about you take off all your clothes and stand in the middle of the room in front of the nurse and I'll inspect every millimeter of you?  Then we'll see whose blood pressure is rising!"  I must remind myself that he's only doing it for my good (in fact I'm paying him to do it) and that he's probably seen worse bodies than mine.  And the good news is that I only have to do it once a year now.  And the great news is that he hasn't found any more melanoma!