The Drugs Do Work

 They're not drugs. They're topical creams. There are four of them: one for my eyelids, one for my groin, one for my neck, wrists, elbow and knees, and a massive barrel of Epaderm ointment I can put anywhere I choose (as long as I leave half an hour after initially applying the balms). The ick is on the run. Even my neck, which last week looked like I'd narrowly avoided a garroting, is almost back to normal. I have the bouncy soft testes of a much younger man. Traditionally, the joke here would be "...and he's not getting them back" or "they're in a jar under the bed" but come on. I'm not doing that. There are standards. So I'm told. I haven't really looked into it. 

It was a concern. It stole on quickly and confusingly. I've never had any skin issues before. Susan was away, so there was no one to confront with my suddenly scalene nethers. She dodged a bullet there. She's like Wonder Woman. I looked it up on the internet. I self diagnosed. I scared myself to death. I decided to place my furious nut sack in the hands of a medical man. Glad I did. Everything is, once again, right in the garden. Phew. 

Though there was no cause, though. No big reveal - except to the doctor. I can't take steps to avoid this because it just showed up, unbidden, like a ghost. I am a house haunted by the inexplicable. If I get rid of it now, and it looks like its going, it could just return at any time, because nothing seemed to trigger it. It's just going to be a fact in my life now. Or maybe not. Maybe this is it, one and done. I just don't know. 

I'd like to thank all the people that reached out to me, asking if I was okay, sending sympathy, good wishes, even fruit baskets. I'd like to, but I can't because no one gave a shit. 

There. There's an old school joke format for you. Don't say I don't give you anything.