Last week I started to get some weird thing on my lip...it seemed like I might have burned it or bit it, leaving a smallish cut right in the center of my bottom lip. No big deal, I figured I'd buy some Anbesol, apply it sparingly, and in a couple days, all gone, right?
Cut to yesterday morning, the fucker is STILL there. And it's morphed into something that I can't even describe. Now I'm starting to freak out. Of course, I go immediately to the internet, which is telling me that I might possibly have some sort of cancer. Or VD. I gave myself about 10 days to live, and called my dentist.
Thankfully (because I am dying, I was sure of it), they were able to squeeze me in at 10am.
Ok, first horrifying thing about all this--my dentist, who I've been going to for 18 yrs, is a hottie. We all had crushes on him back in his heydey when he was younger and suave..one of my friends recommended him to her roommate, who even had a naughty little affair with him. God were we jealous. Either way, I was hoping that one of his associates would be in the office that day, so i wouldn't have to show him the horrendousness that was my mouth.
I got to the office and the hygienist whisked me into a chair. I immediately started gushing out my fears. At which point Dr McHottie walked in.
"Honey? What is it that you think is wrong with you?" he asked, slightly laughing on the inside, I'm sure.
"I don't want to tell you."
"Honey. Tell me what you think it is." he looked closer at my fat, nasty lip.
I explained that I was sure it was cancer or herpes. And that I wanted it gone, as fast as possible.
Then he really was laughing at me. He told me it was most definitely neither of those things (good, because if it wasn't cancer, but it turned out to be herpes, I was already formulating who was getting blamed for it in my head, and I didn't know how I was going to make THAT phone call!) That I most likely cut my lip, and it just got infected.
And that there was nothing he could do about it.
I have like, 400 dates this week! And I'm planning on kissing at least one of them! And I said as much to Dr McHottie.
If he was laughing at me before, believe me, the man was rolling on the floor in agony at me now. "Let it run it's course. Get some blah blah blah at Duane Reade. You'll be fine, I promise."
I want a second opinion!