Rebel yell

I got a head start on some melanoma this weekend. It was amazingly hot...the kind of hot where you wear big tent like dresses that allow you to NOT suck it in because the heat has sapped all the energy that usually goes into that kind of activity. Though I dispensed with my muu-muu half way through the Lords day and instead plunged myself headlong into some sun-bathing. But first! I made sure that all possible chinks in our fence were covered so as not to scare the neighbors with my bikini clad ass. Let's just say the seams are working a wee bit harder than they should have to. To the gym! Tomorrow!

Later, I'm sure, my dermatologist will scold me for such activity as she examines my moles to see how many are contorting diligently into cancer. How many more, actually, since years ago I lost one mole to the Dark Side; it had morphed into a Rebel Mole that skittered over the top of my foot yelling, "CANCER! HA!" at all the other moles who were just casually lying there, content to stay within their symmetrical, colorless boundaries.

So you see, I'm giving my dermatologist something to do. And shielding all of you from the glare of my impossibly white skin. I'm such a giver.