I went to the gynecologist to get a mole removed.
I’ll let your beautiful, creative minds figure out where it was.
I don’t know how I got a mole there. Moles come from sun exposure and I don’t go outside, let alone let my lady bits go tanning.
You can never be too careful. After all, I put the “I” in “Rare Diseases.” The doctor wants it off, and to get it tested. I think the mole is pretty smart but I’m no doctor.
The doctor was trying to figure out what medical code to put in the computer so it would be covered. Thanks, Medicaid! He said, “Let’s try ‘Suprapubic lesion.” Meaning, a lesion above my pubic area. But what I heard, was SUPERpubic. Like my mole was some kind of Marvel Superhero.
I imagined putting a little cape on it. Shaving the hair so it had an “S” on it. (I always have to shave around it since one time it got nicked and bled FOREVER. Might as well get a little creative.) I could see it swooping in. Citizens will ask, “Is it a tick? Is it a piece of food? No- It’s Superpubic!!!”
Its power would be handing out cotton undies to women everywhere, and advising them to cover their coochies from the sun. Then with a wink, it flies, I mean, lays there, as I walk away to help another polyester victim.
Its TV show's theme song would be “Cake” by Rihanna or “Cherry Pie” by Warrant for obvious reasons. Or maybe we’ll go with “Mony Mony” by Billy Idol, aptly changed to “Moly Moly.”
Except, now it’s gone. Cauterized and scabbed over. Its arch nemesis, “The Scalpel,” got the upper hand…literally. It was no match for Scalpie. Probably the remover of tons of unlikely heroes.
Don’t be sad, no no. I will always remember Superpubic fondly. Good news though, it's in a jar in my basement, with all my other miscellaneous removed parts (there's quite a few).