Poor, Greg. I sent him to the dermatologist on Wednesday to have some moles inspected. He had a couple near his jaw line that he nicked every time he shaved. I expected the doctor to look him over and then ask him to make another appointment for the actual surgery. But the doctor saw no need for a second appointment. She cut right to the chase. Or rather, the mole.
When I arrived home from work, Greg had three bandages on his face.
“I was in a fist fight,” he said in his most manly voice.
“It looks more like you were attacked by a cat,” I said. “And lost.”
As if it weren’t embarrassing enough for Greg to walk around covered in bandages, he had already volunteered for a recruiting trip at UT today. He debated whether to go. He felt fine, so really, there was no reason for him to cancel his plans.
“I think I’m going to go,” he said.
He walked into the bathroom and studied his patched-up jawline. Not only was he wearing three bandages, but each was a different shade of tan. None matched his skin tone.
“I can’t go like this!” he said, exasperated.
One of Greg’s co-workers filled his space, and I think Greg made the right decision. But that was just the beginning of his troubles for he still has to instruct his tae kwon do class. What shame! To have to wear your black belt into class after being mauled by a kitty cat.