Uncle Fester

They’re creepy and they're kooky,
Mysterious and spooky,
They’re all together ooky,
The Thomas Family.

Their house is a museum.
When people come to see 'em
They really are a screa-um.
The Thomas Family.

Neat

Sweet

Petite

So get a witch's shawl on.
A broomstick you can crawl on.

We're gonna pay a call on
The Thomas Family. . .

Dad had a small patch of skin cancer on his nose a few years ago. He had some surgery done. You would never know it. The doctor did a wonderful job. To add to his vanity issues he has since become obsessed with the condition of his skin. Specifically his face, neck skin, hands and arms. All skin that is exposed to the eyes of the public, is under careful scrutiny. He is always talking about having plastic surgery with the dermatologist. On more than one occasion the nurse gave him the name of doctors in the area that perform plastic surgery. I conveniently "misplaced" the referrals.

Last month at his regular skin check appointment, the doctor found some precancerous cells on top of his head, which she treated. When asked if he wears sunscreen when he is outside he replied "No." The doctor explained the importance of this. Dad nodded and smiled. When we discuss actually using the sunscreen, he ignores me stating that his head and face need the sun to look good.

Yesterday Dad stomped up the stairs from his apartment, flew threw the door and rushed to the chair next to me. He put his face in mine. The two of us nose to nose and he exclaimed "I'VE GOT FESTA'S ON MY NOSE!" I backed up a bit to get my eyes in focus. I looked at his nose and there sat two small pimples. I told him "Yes dad, I think you'll be fine." He sat in the chair for twenty minutes or so running his fingers over his nose sighing and shaking his head.

This morning after his one man band performance, he came into the family room. He stood in front of the television and pointed to the end of his nose with his middle finger, "I've got festa's. I guess I gotta see that skin doctor. I don't know what else to do. I got them right here on my nose." I then, in turn pointed to my nose with my middle finger and said "Right there dad? You have fester's?" He replies, "Yup, I got festa's!" (If anyone walked into the room right now they would see us flipping each other off!)

I guess I'll take Uncle Fester to the doctor some time next week.