Wart not, want not

I drink a fair bit. As a result, I smoke cigarettes a little. A fair bit.

Let me not get ahead of myself.

Last Tuesday, I drank a fair bit. And as a girl is prone to do, I scoured the shower, AND that part of the flat stove top that gets a little bit black and grainy when my pans runneth over, AND the wine-stained tee I had neglected for weeks in my pseudo-hamper.

Tipsy and singing and carefree, I Swiffered the hardwood with wild abandon. I twisted my hair into a sloppy knot and washed all traces of makeup from my speckled face. I slung my bra into the churning washer. And my underwear, while I was at it. At day's end the apartment was immaculate. I was not.

And after receiving a phone call from a beautiful friend, I stumbled my way to the outdoors in running shorts and a grungy tee to smoke a cigarette. Or three.

And then it happened.

Cute Neighborhood Boy with Dog, the man I have smiled hello to for months, who I've watched come and go with his hybrid/mutt of a canine, approached.

The week before a Mom with two little ones on scooters forced praise through her teeth so as not to be spotted talking about CNB w/D by CNB w/D, "The guy. With the dog." Her face looked pained. "Ee's going to run ento traffic if ee keeps checking you out."

"The guy?" I questioned, mimicing the painful Joker face as if this was indeed necessary. "Looking? Dog? At ee?" Incredulous. It is my way.

And now he was here. And my breasts were at Bea Athur level. And as he stopped in front of me I realized I had three dead cigarette butts laid at my grimy feet. And no underwear on. And pimples. And I was tipsy.

And I had a growth.

Post Flashback #2: You see, three weeks earlier I approached my Mom and Dad about a bump on my knee.

"What is it?" I begged. "Please say you've seen one before. Psoriasis? Tetter? Someone must have some Baby Gold Bond."

"It's a wart," my mother offered nonchalantly, shoving my knee out of her sight in favor of the more stimulating HGTV.

"OH, HELL'S NO," I spit. "That's not a wart. It might be the spawn of some alien done come down and impregnated my knee, but that's no wart, be-otch!"

It turned out to be a wart.

$13.67 and a CVS coupon for Compound W later it peeled off my body.

But not before CNB w/D spotted me with a tell-tale, full-blown wart bandage.

And yet he stopped to say hello. And introduce himself. Which was nice.

How nice to know there still are men who like their women with Betty White breasts.