Since Granny and I have an unnatural obsession with The Granddaughter, you might think that she is the only child in our lives. We do have three others living at home: The Daughter (mother of our grandchild), Drama Queen and Xboy.
Yesterday I took Drama Queen to the family doctor to look at a scrape on her middle knuckle that just wasn't healing. After a bit of investigation, the doctor concluded the wound wasn't healing because every time a scab formed, Drama Queen would pick it off. She was under the impression that if she did that, she wouldn't get a scar.
You see, Drama Queen is deathly afraid of scars. She is afraid they will make her less than perfect physically. She is still under the impression that a young woman should strive for physical perfection. I wonder where she got that idea. Do you know where she might have gotten that idea, America's Next Top Model? How about you, Cosmopolitan? You, MTV? Thanks for screwing up my daughter's image of her own body, you jerks.
The doctor had given her some antibiotic cream several weeks ago for the cut, and now he added an antifungal. With the Drama Queen, if two creams are good, three are better. She found a third one in her bathroom that promised to shrink tissue (scar tissue, perhaps?) and provide relief from itching, burning and discomfort. So, in an attempt to remove the offending scars, she rubbed the stuff on her knuckles, and up and down her arms and legs to remove all the residual scars that a young person accumulates over the course 16 years.
She emerged in the living room and Granny said, "What the hell is that smell?"
"This," she said, and handed the tube to Granny.
The Drama Queen doesn't particularly like school. She detests reading. Therefore, she didn't carefully read the words on that tube of ointment she had just slathered all over her body. But even if she had, it is possible she would not have known what "hemorrhoidal ointment" is really for.
She does now.
I think that when it is time for my speech at her wedding, I'm gonna tell that story.