My skin is getting fascinating—like “Ripley’s Believe it or Not” fascinating. Used to be, the only big fat dermal deal was a breakout or a boo-boo. Medically speaking, qualifications for boo-boo status include but are not limited to: arterial bleeding, gaping chest wounds, exposed bones, and severed limbs.

Lately, I’ve been treated to mystery bumps, blotches, and general discoloration. I’ll look down at my knee one day and see a bump big enough to qualify as Real Estate, and wonder, “How did that get there?” New blotches could be age spots, fungal infections, or yesterdays’ hamburger gravy. WebMD refers to the latter as gastric bypass eating, characterized by an acute lack of motor coordination when shoveling food into your mouth.

My feet and elbows have been especially entertaining of late. When working at the computer, I’ll often rest my elbows on the desk while forming my thoughts. I’ve found that laying my head on my arms improves the cognitive process. Frequently, drooling is involved.

This has given rise to a brown patch on my right elbow. I’ve seen this before on my neighbor and Abe Vigoda. Not wishing to look like a 90 year-old man with skin that is transparent on a sunny day, I pick at it. Picking has worked well for me in the past, and is now an automatic response to scabs, boogers, and crusty skin. Don’t hate me because I’m classy. As my skin in these bony areas begins to take on the structural integrity of cobwebs, I may need to rethink the picking thing.

No discussion of epidural deformities would be complete without the feet. Sure, I’ve done the walk of shame from the Dr. Scholl’s display to the checkout stand at the supermarket. At least I’ve never had to have a price check on corn pads announced to all and sundry in the store.

I’m talking about a new game—Which foot will be swollen today? The rules are simple. Count the tendons, and if the answer is zero, you win! Extra points are awarded for discoloration of the toes, and indentations from your shoes that last more than a half hour after you take them off.

I had lousy skin in my teen years, and had to make regular acne pilgrimages to the dermatologist. Now my 6 month check-ups are all about moles. The dermatologist will fuss over a pin-size blue dot on my skin, while I’m worrying about the ugly brown splotch in the shape of Honduras.

I guess I can deal with my aging skin, so long as the zits are done before the hairy moles begin.