"You did great!" the dermatologist's assistant told me as I was getting ready to leave the procedure room, where they had cut a two-inch incision and yanked a marble-sized cyst out of my right arm. "Do you want to see it before you go?"
"No!" I said. "Well, maybe."
She held up a specimen cup with a gory little orb floating in saline. "You two have been together a long time," she noted wryly as she turned to place it back on the tray.
"That's true," I agreed. It had been at least 15 years. "Bye now! Take care of yourself!" I waved.
"You, too," she said cheerfully.
"Oh," I laughed. "I was talking to the cyst! I'll see you in ten days when I get my stitches out."
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