Nothing Good Happens After Midnight

This week has been a doozy.

Part of it SO FUN as we celebrated Julie’s birthday, one of my party planning business partners.

We threw her a Barbie-themed party.

More on that later.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, I trashed my neck.

Bad.

Let me start by confirming that the old saying my parents repeated over and over to me,

“Nothing good happens after midnight,”

is true.

Monte was out of town.

McDaniel was at a bible study event that ran late and it was raining and her phone was in someone’s car and I couldn’t get in contact with her and I was worried and mad and tired

and clearly not in the right frame of mind to be reading anything on the internet.

It wasn’t midnight, mind you, 

but close enough in my world for crazy things 

like putting Frankincense essential oil on a mole on my neck 

to reduce its appearance to sound like a pretty darn good idea.

There was even convincing before and after pictures.

And I’ve always hated that mole, mind you. 

Remember, Monte wasn’t here to warn me that putting Frankincense essential oil on a tiny cotton ball and then putting a band aid on top of that and then going to sleep would end so poorly.

I woke up at 3:30 am with a searing pain in my neck area.

I ran to the bathroom, took off the band aid and found a HUGE blister,

WAY bigger than the size of the cotton ball 

or band aid I went to bed wearing.

In my grogginess, I splashed water on my neck, prayed it was all a dream and went back to bed.

In the morning, I realized it had not been a dream when I looked in the mirror and found a fiery red tear drop shaped chemical burn, 

with a mole in the middle of it,

staring back at me.

It took, depending on the position, two to three band aids to cover the hot mess on my neck.

And a 44-year-old neck is not pretty when bandaged. 

It becomes all foldy and wrinkly.

Even with clear band aids, 

it looked like I had a turkey waddle. 

Much better, right?

I had a long day of errands to run.

Errands in public places with people.

People who might wonder about the lady walking around 

with three band aids on her neck.

Why couldn’t I have had a lapse in judgement during turtleneck season?!

And I was worried two weeks ago about being seen 

without my wedding ring on?!

I’d pay CASH DOLLARS to be seen publicly without my wedding ring on 

than have to explain why I have a bandaged neck.

I texted Monte about my neck mishap.

He asked if I should not be left home alone anymore. 

And if the girls should hide sharp objects 

and the internet 

from me.

The next day was the Barbie-themed birthday party.

I really didn’t want my neck wound to distract from celebrating Julie.

So I wore a scarf.

As only good friends can do,

 they saw right through my scarf-wearing cover-up.

I had to fess up.

Then they told me to see a doctor.

Of course, the very next day Monte and I had a meeting at the school.

My friends were good to give me answer suggestions if any questions pertaining to my neck were asked.

“I have skin cancer.” 

I’d have no ability to say this.

“I had a mole removed.” 

If only that were true. 

The mole is hanging in there nicely.

“I just got my neck tattoo removed.” 

Perfect! 

Except we couldn’t come up with a definitive answer on what the neck tattoo was if asked. Carisa suggested a skull with roses but I really don’t think I’m the skull with roses kind of person. But then again, I would definitely be the kind of person who would have a skull with roses neck tattoo removed. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Julie suggested I hold my fingers to my band aids while talking in such a way to suggest I had lost my larynx or vocal chords or whatever it is you lose. to years of chain smoking.

So I said nothing. 

I didn’t say a peep about my band aids even when I saw the woman 

at the school meeting clearly staring at my neck. 

It actually became funnier to me the longer I said nothing.

Well, as funny as a painful chemical burn to the neck can be. 

I’m grasping at straws here, 

trying to find the funny.

Later that afternoon, I picked up the phone to make an appointment with my general practice doctor.

She’s a friend and I knew she’d get a laugh out of my story.

Not like the humorless Urgent Care doctor 

who didn’t even crack a smile when I told him 

I heard angels sing after I jammed a Q-tip 

too far into my ear canal.

My doctor has experience with “my ways” since I one time made an appointment to see her because I thought I was having heart issues and she diagnosed me with a pulled muscle around my breast bone due to poor form in my side planks while playing with the Wii Fit.

She gets me.

And if I remember right, 

she told me the mole 

on my neck was fine 

and not to mess with it.

Oops.

As my life would of course have it,

my doctor was booked for the day but the nurse referred me 

to another doctor in another practice within their medical group.

I prayed it would be a woman with a good sense of humor 

and a compassionate heart.

It didn’t start off well when the front desk lady couldn’t figure out how to file my insurance information and I had to stand up front at her desk with a bandaged neck for all in the waiting room to see for a really long time.

I contemplated walking out about 57 different times but the front desk lady still had my insurance card.

She decided it would be easier for me to pay for the visit out of pocket.

Stupidity costs, people.

A white-haired MALE (uh-oh) who looked like he just left the golf course, walked into the room.

He didn’t introduce himself or ask my name.

He didn’t ask what I did, 

what I did it with 

and why in the world I did it.

I didn’t get to tell my story.

Which is almost as bad as having a fiery red 

tear-shaped chemical burn with a mole 

in the middle of it on your neck.

In 4 1/2 seconds he looked at my burn,

told me it looked like I was doing everything right,

seriously?!

and that it should be scabbing nicely by next week.

woo-hoo…!?

So there you have it.

If you find yourself up late tonight,

don’t turn on QVC,

don’t watch that informercial on TV,

and FOR THE LOVE OF PETE,

don’t peruse the internet.

At that late hour, it will all sound too simple.

Too good.

Too quick and affordable.

But they are ALL LIES.

And you will be left to wake up to ugly jewelry you don’t need,

household products that don’t work

or a searing chemical burn on your neck.

Stupidity costs, people.

And nothing good happens after midnight.