I wasn't so sure about the procedure. But since there is an inconvenient history of skin cancer in my family, the extra caution was warranted. So just an hour or so ago I laid out on one of those wonky vinyl beds with the paper laid over top and the doc sliced it off with a razor blade. So gross.
But the small amount of pain and the strangeness of having someone cut a piece of my face off were nothing compared to the feeling that I'm somehow not myself. I had gotten pretty used to that oversized freckle. Now it's not there. Do I even look like me anymore?
So today instead of posting any oozing post-procedure photos of my mole-free face (you're welcome), I am posting a few things that I can still look at or think of and know exactly who I am, whether I have twenty moles or none. These are things you might think of, if you think of Ginger at all.
new york - because I'm obsessed
middle grade fiction of the harry potter persuasion, which I read A LOT
sharpie markers, the writing instrument of champions
aviators - so I can pretend I'm cool
converse sneakers - ditto
wrist watches - my jewelry of choice - if I had money, I would have lots of them
this motley crew of nieces and nephews - I love them so much it hurts