Do Little

Because I knew you'd all be worried - yeah, thanks for that - I went back to the doctor. It was as hideous as I expected. I actually got into a sweat waiting for him to say the magical, pervy words and then when he finally said them I felt myself blushing. Great, now my doctor thinks I have a crush on him. So he took a look at the weird black freckle on my back and suggested I keep an eye on it.

This is most unsatisfactory. I am hopeless at keeping an eye on things. I start out concentrating hard but eventually my attention is grabbed by something else and I wander off somewhere else. An explosion tends to result: honey explodes in the microwave; a marriage explodes in my face. Whichever way you look at it, it's awkward.

I briefly considered getting a black texta and writing TUMOUR! on the bathroom mirror as a sort of cheery reminder but it seems to me that would impinge a little on the healthy optimism that generally pervades the morning.

However, on the UP side, I did get a laugh in. He asked me if I needed my, ahem, contraception prescription renewed and I scoffed and said, "I don't think so" and he had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. Then he asked if since I was no longer taking it everything had, you know, resumed its natural course in that department, and I said, "Yep, all fine. But hey, you know, I don't even get PMT any more! Well, at least I think I don't. Maybe it's just because there's no one around to tell me I have it."