I first got plantar warts in 2002, and they were extraordinarily painful. For something as innocuous as warts, I mean. Not painful like childbirth or something. I didn’t even know what they were at first, so I was walking around in pain, wondering what the crap had gone wrong with my feet, and then I visited my sister (the one without a blog for me to link to), and she said, “You might have plantar warts,” and sure enough, that was what I had. I went to the doctor and he applied the liquid nitrogen, which really hurt a great deal, but it made the warts either go away or become so un-bothersome that I didn’t notice them anymore. But eventually they came back, and here they are to this day.

The last time I went to the doctor–a different doctor than the one I had in 2002–she basically told me that there’s nothing I can do about my plantar warts because they’re just going to keep coming back and coming back. She applied some liquid nitrogen, but not in the direct, hardcore way my 2002 doctor did. 2002 doctor walked in with a styrofoam cup full of liquid nitrogen and a cotton swab and just liquid-nitrogened the crap out of those warts. Like I told you, painful–but effective. Current doctor has this spray can liquid nitrogen that is only maybe half a step more medical than the OTC freeze-off stuff you get at the Target, and it doesn’t hurt nearly enough to be effective. It doesn’t do a thing, really. No wonder she’s so pessimistic about my prospects. I need some real liquid nitrogen, lady. Or a doctor who believes in curing plantar warts. You have not inspired confidence!

Sorry to start talking to my doctor in the middle of the post. She doesn’t even read my blog, so I don’t know what I’m thinking.

Anyway, gentle readers. I have this wart problem, this intractable wart problem I’ve been living with for years, and it’s really getting on my nerves. My husband got a plantar wart a few years ago. He didn’t go to the doctor. He cut it out of his foot with a pair of manicuring scissors or something. I’ll give him this much: it’s gone. It hasn’t come back! But…ew. No. I’m not that hardcore. But I really want to get rid of these warts.

A while back I consulted a friend of mine who is a naturopathic doctor. She suggested banana peel or duct tape. I admit that I have never tried the banana peel thing. Don’t often have my hands on a banana peel at the appropriate time. I suppose I should reconsider this method, since I am technically desperate.

Speaking of unpleasantries, Mister Bubby told me last night that he’s decided to do his book report on Frank J. Fleming’s Obama: The Greatest President in the History of Everything. Yes, one of my cheap Kindle specials. Every time MB gets his hands on my Kindle, he reads the Obama book. He finds it hilarious, which is why he wants to do his book report on it. It’s an oral book report that he has to give in front of the class. I told him I didn’t think doing an oral report on this particular book was such a good idea. “Why not?” he asked. “There’s nothing inappropriate in it.” You can see that he has a somewhat naive perspective on appropriateness. I tried to explain that political satire is not really suitable for polite company–and I suppose applying the term “polite company” to a bunch of fifth graders is not really suitable either, but anyway–he didn’t get it. He seems to think I am trying to stifle his free speech. Which I am, of course.

“But I already got it approved!” he said.

“Really?” I said, in the most incredulous tone you can imagine.

“Okay, I didn’t get it approved, exactly”–Liar!–“but [the teacher] said you could choose any book that wasn’t a graphic novel.”

Okay, I guess that counts as “approved.” But not as “a good idea.” I mean, don’t get me wrong–I think the book is funny, way more than $1.99 worth of laughs if you enjoy that sort of thing. It’s an incredibly short book, sort of flimsy for a book report–but not a graphic novel. True. No pictures whatsoever, and if that’s the criteria for a suitable book, okay. But I don’t know. Injecting politics into a fifth grade classroom just sitting around minding its own business seems gratuitously provocative, in a rude way. There’s just something sort of rude about it. I’m trying to raise my children not to be rude.

Speaking of rude, I need to figure out how much to tip my hairdresser today. I’m going to a fancy-pants salon to get my hair done. I tend to tip 30-40% at a cheap salon because 30-40% of cheap is still cheap. 30-40% of an expensive haircut is a really expensive haircut. And what if I hate it? Yes, I’m already having second thoughts about the fancy-pants salon. My husband gave me a gift card. I think he’s trying to tell me something. I’m not taking offense or anything! I’m just trying to be appreciative.

Speaking of appreciative, I need to figure out what to make for dinner tonight, which no one will appreciate. No one! Not even me, most likely.

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