I love being tan. I’m not sure if it’s because it makes me look less fat or if it’s because I really only enjoy doing things that I am good at. I tan very well, people. It took a lot of time and practice, but let’s just say I’m a professional.
My Dad is 100% Greek and I happened to acquire his olive skin tone.
Since the dawn of time I’ve been a sun baby. Back in high school and college I would use any kind of oil available. It was rather effective. Not only could I Crisco up my body for tanning purposes, but then I could rub my body with the chicken legs and stick them in the fryer. BAM!
I’m tan AND I get to eat me some fried chicken. BAM! BAM!
When it wasn’t tanning season in Chicago (basically 8 months out of the entire year), I would routinely “fake and bake” a few times a month. I love feeling warm and, even more, liked my thighs being tan to better hide the cellulite.
When I turned 30 I realized this habit was going to make me age prematurely. I had enough issues – looking 20 years older than my stated age was not welcome!
I decided to find a dermatologist to get a “mole check.” I had some random “freckles” here and there that I felt were probably worthy of a doctor’s knowing eyes. And by freckle I mean a black spot the size of a baseball and the height of a toddler who talked and had an appetite for fried chicken.
Or maybe that was me. Regardless. Me and Rick (my special Freckle) definitely loved us some KFC!
I got a referral from a friend, made my appointment and eagerly looked to put the whole thing behind me. It was a teaching hospital, so the rather cute Hispanic physician asked if it was ok if some students observed.
I was asked to disrobe, but could leave my underwear on. I was a tad bit confused on why I had to disrobe all the way down to my skivvies, but figured he was just being thorough. Then I contemplated the fact that I would be mostly naked with an audience and found myself getting a tad bit moist.
Side note: Most people hate the word moist (except when dealing with cake). As a result, I try to use the word as often as possible.
I also try to eat cake as often as possible. I figure it’s a fair trade-off.
Anyway, so I’m wearing a hospital gown and waiting for the doctor and three stooges, I mean students, to enter the room.
When they do, rather cute Hispanic physician put on his coal miner’s hat and magnifying glass and began to examine my face. So far no problems, right on!
He pulled my gown down and began to check out my breasts. I start feeling a tad bit uncomfortable and hoped he would move onto my stomach, AKA home of Rick.
He swiftly covered me back up and lifted my gown from the bottom to reveal my stomach and legs. Once again, no problems. The students observed eagerly behind him. I’m not sure if they were eager to see more of me naked or perhaps eager for me to cover up.
I’ll go with wanting to see me naked.
He finished examining my legs, even getting in between my toes. He then traveled back up to my underwear and yanked them down. “Oh!!!” I shouted out in surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to look at my mound of joy!
“Just routine” he assured me as he quickly scanned my labia. “I’ll leave the internal exam to your gynecologist.”
Internal exam??? I would think so!!! It might be teeming with syphilis and HPV, but can you even get vaginal skin cancer? Is that even considered skin? What the fuck?!
At this, he informed me to roll over. I began to do so but froze when I remembered I was wearing a thong. And the hospital gown is open in the back. Which meant I would have to lay with my white ass exposed to everyone in the room. Damn you, Rick! If it weren’t for you, I could have continued tanning and at least exposed a large TAN ass to the room.
Rick began to laugh maniacally as he realized what was about to go down. I flicked him in the face and told him he’s not getting fried chicken any time soon. He quickly shut up.
I continued to roll over slowly. As rather cute Hispanic physician began to examine my neck and back, I started to blabber and stutter incoherently.
“I’m really sorry doctor! I mean, I didn’t know about this, I would have worn different underwear. You know? I’m sorry. Really. I would have. You see I wore a white skirt to work? So I had to wear a thong! I wouldn’t have worn it had I known. I’m sorry!”
He chuckled softly as he began to talk to me in what I’m sure he meant to be a soothing voice. “Regardless of your choice of underwear, I would have had to move them over anyways for the examination” he stated.
Thankfully, I had no problem freckles or moles. What I did have was a burning red face that I couldn’t quite shake for some time.
I have yet to go back for a second mole check. Rick says it’s ok. That as long as I keep feeding him fried chicken, he promises to remain benign. I happen to love fried chicken, so I think it’s a win-win.
If I ever do decide to go back, I plan to research the hottest doctor in town, waltz in naked and tell him I don’t have a gynecologist. Better check my vaginal skin!!!