Jan. 10th, 2013

carin and wade and i were talking about doctors and inoculations. wade mentioned that he knew he had had the full regimen when he was a baby because he had the scar to prove it. how odd, i remarked. usually people our age in america don't really have inoculation scars. carin has one on her shoulder, but she was a baby in saudi arabia. and i remember seeing scars on the shoulder of every woman in a tank top in korea. i figured it was something the u.s. had perfected in the 70s.

and then it happened. wade pulled up his pant leg, and showed us his scar on the inside of his ankle. just a brown dot, the size of a pencil end eraser.

and my jaw dropped. *I* have an identical mole on my ankle. at least...i always thought it was a mole. my only mole.

now, it may not seem like the biggest deal in the world, mistaking an inoculation scar for a mole. but it is when it's on your own body... a body you've known for 36 years, every flaw and freckle and non-symmetrical quirk... it's weird to learn anything new about a trusted landmark. this dot you've had on your ankle all your life, which you've kept an eye on just in case it changes shape or gets scaly...after 36 years is no longer anything to think about. at all. in fact, it is now proof of your middle-class upbringing, the mark of an era. it also signifies that you were born with almost flawless skin, since you have no other spots other than a freckle or two. and that's a fucking weird thing to realize too.

i mean, what's next? if i wake up tomorrow and find out my boobs have always been bagpipes, i'm going to be mad that i wasted so much time.

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January 2015

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