Cause & Effect.

Everything has a consequence.

For example:

This is what happens when you let your local 'foot-and-ankle-clinic-working' roommate paint your toenails. Yay zebra!

Aren't they fantasmical?

But this is what happens when you let your 'not-so-formally-trained-as-a-dermatologist' father come at you with a can of air duster and a Q-tip. And this was even a few days later.

The immediate consequences were too gruesome to document on my G-rated blog. We're talking blisters. Possibly even comparable to boils.

What is the difference between a blister and a boil anyway?

Huh. According to Wikipedia,  "a boil, also called a furuncle, is a deep folliculitis, infection of the hair follicle. It is almost always caused by infection by the bacterium Staphylococcus aureus, resulting in a painful swollen area on the skin caused by an accumulation of pus and dead tissue."

Okay. Maybe PG.

But I'm sure you're wondering why I allowed Daddy-O to freeze off my epidermis with liquid nitrogen anyways? The truth is: I'm still wondering myself.

Suffice it to say, I have bumps.

(Ha ha, Gem. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I guess, technically, they're really flat warts. But that name grosses me out beyond all belief. So I prefer to call them 'bumps'. Tiny, colorless bumps on my hand and arm that nobody really notices except me.

Which is why I let strange men burn them off. (No offense, Dad.)

And yet, they keep coming back!

I've decided that the more I'm determined they must go, the more determined they are to come back. Stubborn little suckers.

Same thing with the diamond shaped mole I've had on my right arm for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I told my mom how intensely I detested it and, without fail, every time she'd try to convince me that it was a beauty mark.

Does this look like a stupid face to you???

Don't answer that.

So when I convinced her to fund a trip to the dermatologist, I thought my blemish free dreams had finally come true.

HA.

Don't ever dream. It always ends badly.

'Cuz here I am, a year-and-a-half later and the diamond shaped 'beauty mark' is making its reappearance. CURSES.

Somebody just chop off my arms and put me out of my misery.