The backstory: I had a basal cell skin cancer removed from my face last week and the removal involved plastic surgery to make sure it looks good in the aftermath. Ten stitches later it seemed like a bigger deal than I had expected and my sister and I exchanged a few text messages about the whole situation, starting with the reminder that this is my third basal cell skin cancer.
Me: Slowly but surely I will carve pieces of my self off.
KO: Hey those pieces turned on you so they have to be voted off the island. You try to kill me, you’re gone.
Me: That is now our family motto.
KO: Sounds kind mafia but (shrugs shoulders emoji).
Me: Mafia when you are 25 but I am 50 so it’s common sense.
KO: That’s probably what they say too.
Indeed. Meanwhile, the repair is looking better and better (and hurting less) and the stitches come out Wednesday. I’d expect that I will continue to reap the rewards of a youth spent lying around the pool without sunscreen. Which may be troubling for my health but is likely good news from a family humor point of view.
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