There I was in my comfy chair, which is where I wonder what to do next, and whether to bother, and once again I notice the tiny lesion on my arm. It’s my opinion that a dermatologist would like to look at that if only he knew about it, so I took a photo of it on my phone, and then I went to my Kaiser account and sent a message to my doctor with the photo attached. Then I sat and wondered some more. Ping! My doctor replied that I might should make an appointment to see her about a dermoscopic picture to send to the dermatology department. (To see anyone in the dermatology department, you need a recent dermoscopic picture, a personal essay, a gift basket, and four months.) I made an appointment to see my doctor in January and sat some more.
Crud. Now I have to get out of the chair to put this on my calendar, because that is how I roll. It’s a paper calendar with nice nature photography on it and it hangs on my wall, just like Mom’s used to. If I remember to look at it every now and then, it works like anything. I don’t maintain a digital calendar. For some reason I’ve been initially baffled every time I tried to set up a digital calendar with Reminder Pings and everything, and initial bafflement is usually enough to put off the whole learning process. So, paper calendar it is.
But the calendar was clear across the room. So I sat and wondered: I wonder if I, the improved modern sedentary version of myself, could set up a digital calendar like everyone else now? Then I could stay in my chair. Let’s give it a shot. So I gave it a shot. It worked this time.
That wasn’t so bad! Alexa, I hollered, still sitting, turn on KQAC radio. Alexa did, after talking about it long enough that it sounded like she expected to be thanked. The music was good. They were playing something nice for piano and cello, and I’m on the lookout for piano/cello music because I have a pet tame cellist holed up right next door. I checked the website for the playlist and found out what I was listening to, and then went to a sheet music website and ordered it. It was seven dollars for a download. I downloaded it and hit Print and somewhere behind me, my printer, apparently caught off-guard and in a good mood, started to churn and chunk out my music. Wow!
I’m getting the hang of this modern life after all. I have taken a picture and made an appointment and turned on the radio and bought sheet music without once peeling a butt cheek molecule from my chair. That’s a wonder right there. I felt amazement! I felt pride! I felt that finally I understood why America’s ass has gotten so wide. And by America’s, I mean My.
My ass is getting wider. It is threatening to occupy the available volume, like a gas. Soon it will be so wide it will start to square up at the sides where it hits the arms of my chair. I will have the ass of a large bald wombat. I will need a butt-horn and lotion to get into my pants.
I always thought my ass looked pretty decent from the right angle. Pretty soon it’ll be nothing but right angles. My gawd. I will be pubic in the front and cubic in the back.
What can I do? Without getting out of the chair? I have the entire internet in my lap. Think!
Here we go. Here it is. One Papasan chair, for ample spreadage and a rounder mold. The tufted buttons will give me dimples like God’s Own Cellulite but we’ll cross that fridge when we come to it. Free shipping! Coupon! Now to wait.
Ping. Shit. Just delivered. It’s on my porch. Which is way the hell over there.