I agree with Cher when she said that aging sucks. It can suck but I also have to practice acceptance if I am going to get older gracefully, which I want to do. Therefore, I accept the fact that aging sucks.

I went to the MoleSafe clinic yesterday at NYU. I’ve had some skin cancer (nothing serious, relax) and moles out the wazoo, so I thought that it best to take advantage of this fairly new screening program.

This is digital imaging to detect melanoma at the earliest possible stage. I stripped down to my thong and stood in a cold examining room with a lovely woman nurse (whose name escapes me, so I’m calling her Marge) and several cameras. Marge photographed, measured and drew on my entire body, at every angle. And I mean every angle. This non-humiliating process resulted in a complete digital record of my skin and moles down to the microscopic level.

When I say microscopic level, I’m not dicking around. This wasn’t your mother’s 10x magnification make-up mirror. This had a magnification of 30x and was at the highest resolution than you could ever have imagined. I saw the actual hair follicles on my arms and legs. I missed a few spots in the shaving department. I cannot tell you how horrifying and downright disturbing it is to see a mole, or even a freckle, under those conditions. Oh, and just to make me feel prettier, and younger, I saw all of the red-ass damage that the devil, known as the sun, had wreaked on my poor, fragile body.

Photo Credit: thisislalaland.com

My digital moles will be diagnosed by an expert melanoma dermatologist and I will be provided with a comprehensive written report. I’m not sure that I can handle that.

I do believe in this type of screening, especially for those of us who have had issues in the past, but I did not need to see my entire ass magnified.

The digital record now serves as a baseline by which changes to my moles may be identified on follow-up appointments. Neat.

As I got dressed, I asked Marge what will happen to my sexy pictures after the doctor has a looksy. She turned around and handed me my very own DVD to take home. Why? I’ll tell you one thing, my boyfriend will NEVER see those photos. Not if I ever want to have sex with him again. Marge told me to keep them in a safe place. She suggested that I keep them under lock and key, mentioning the internet and how ‘things’ suddenly and mysteriously happen.

I continued, “No, but after the doctor looks at them, what happens?” “They’re stored in our database, so we can refer to them the next time that you come in.” That made me a touch squeamish. Now I’m going to worry about the snapshots of my erotic moles getting into the wrong hands.

Oh sure, Marge used words like encrypted and archived but you just know that Barry, the night security guard at the Data Center in Newark, where my provocative moles will live, is slide-showing his way through hundreds of patients, until he lands on Sascha, a blond flight attendant, with healthy and perky C-cups and an hour glass figure, who went to MoleSafe because one of her co-workers at Delta Airlines saw a lesion, the size of Detroit on her left shoulder blade when they were rooming together during a layover in, where else, Detroit, and pleaded with her to get it checked out. Of course Barry starts jerking off to those perky C-cups, until he scrolls to another photo of Sascha, thinking and hoping, that she had a mole close enough to her vagina, but far enough away so as not to gross him out, but instead he finds the picture of her ginormous shoulder blade lesion and immediately loses his erection.

Nay, I’m not worried.