Aging gracefully, like a tugboat

Last night I was fiddling with a small mole on my stomach, because I had nothing else to do and I didn’t want to clean the kitchen, and I suddenly remembered that it’s not a mole. At my last appointment, my dermatologist informed me that it’s actually called a “barnacle.” You know, like the crusty crap that grows on the underside of a boat.

So that makes me feel pretty sexy. Between my barnacle, my bunion, and my wankles, I would say I am aging less like a fine wine, and more like an expired container of milk that you forgot you had in the back of the fridge until one day you smell something rank and you think, “What on earth is that stench?!?” and you dig through your fridge and throw out a ton of shriveled baby carrots and realize maybe you should stop buying so many baby carrots and you keep digging and find 14 half-eaten jars of pasta sauce and realize maybe you should stop opening new jars of pasta sauce and then finally you see it hiding in the back corner with crusty milk bits hanging off the lid and you say “Oh hi Amy – I didn’t see you there. You’re old and moldy and you’re starting to rot.”

Me. As a barnacle-infested tugboat.

Me. As a barnacle-infested tugboat. Please note my feet are not actually the same size as my head. Yet. And my wankles are not actually visible. Yet. 

6 thoughts on “Aging gracefully, like a tugboat

  1. My Dad calls them barnacles, too, and says every few months, “I have to go have my barnacles scraped.”
    But I don’t think that’s the technical term. Seborrheitic keratosis, I believe. Doesn’t that sound better? Less nautical and more…um…bad-breathy?

    Seriously with the pasta sauce. How can I pretend to make my own sauce when I have, like, seven jars 1/4 full of thickening red goo of unknown vintage? When you hit two opened jars, make lentil soup. Lentils, water, pasta sauce, and whatever veggies you have on hand. Way easier than properly seasoning soup, what with your wankles and all.

      • I know, right? Basil, bay leaf, garlic, onion, tomato paste, thyme, salt, olive oil…wait, isn’t that marinara?

        Add extra bay leaf, though. And the rinds from wedges of parmesan cheese (freeze ’em instead of composting). Nothing flavors up a soup like an old parmesan rind.

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