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Years of living in southern Florida have apparently affected the way I see the world, for today I visited a plastic surgeon and had a procedure done. That I was home about than 30 minutes after my scheduled appointment time will probably clue you in to the fact that it was not major surgery.

No, the vanity of South Beach was not the cause: the number of people baking in the sun was. You see, I had two moles removed from my back (right in that spot you can't quite reach with your hands) and one removed from near my left wrist.

The ones on my back were "puffy" enough that they'd occasionally catch on the back of a chair or something and bleed just enough to ruin a shirt. Occasionally being defined as two or three times in the past ten years, anyway. The one on my arm my doctor recommended I have removed. It had a few small hairs growing from it, which I thought was a good sign. I won't miss them, anyway.

They'll go to pathology just to check, but none of them have really changed shape from what I can remember in the past ten years, so I don't imagine there will be an surprise there. I'm just glad to have them gone.

My family doctor referred me to a plastic surgeon because "It'll be months before you can get in with a dermatologist. Plastic surgeons do a better job faster and are more readily available for appointments." And so it was.

I go back in two weeks to have some stitches removed. I can't go in a pool or hot tub for about as long. I can't shower until tomorrow evening, and the only pain medication I'm allowed to take is Tylenol.

P.S. Incidentally, the doctor said that about 75% of his patients across all procedures are deathly afraid of needles. WTF?

P.P.S. There's an "ABCDE Rule" for suspicious moles: Asymmetry, Border, Color, Diameter, Elevation.