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On Friday, I will go under the knife for treatment of conjoined twin myslexia, which manifests itself on my left elbow. While the doctor insists it is just a cyst, I know what it really is. And his name is “Fred.” Luckily for me, Fred is very, very small for a conjoined twin. Or perhaps large for a bot fly. But I’m pretty sure it’s the former. And definitely not a boring old cyst.

Having Fred finally removed is yet another perk of Conny working for a dermatologist. (The other is laser hair removal, but that’s a story for another day.) When Fred was first examined, the doctor told me it was harmless, and removal would leave a scar. But since that initial exam, Fred appears to be getting larger, and a little more uppity. So come Friday, scar or not, Fred will be forcibly evicted from my arm, once and for all. Hopefully we won’t need to call the city marshalls.

After the excision, I wanted to keep Fred in a little jar of formalin, since he is family, after all. But apparently, it is standard procedure to send such things away for a biopsy. The cover story is to check if Fred is actually cancerous or some crap like that, but I know the real reason. The doc says it’s a cyst, but she really thinks it’s an alien implant, and she wants a book deal and an apperance on Oprah. All I know is if Fred is an implant, he’s not an alien. Maybe government, but not alien.

In any case, Conny will be there at Fred’s delivery and we’ll take plenty of pictures before he’s sent away. And since I’ll be awake and alert during the procedure, I can make sure the doctor doesn’t try to steal the real Fred and show me some fake cyst made out of rubber cement. I’m no dope.

Perhaps I’ll get an elbow tuck while I am at it.