I went to a fancy-smancy dermatologist in NYC today and she confirmed what I already thought... "Yes, they are warts." On my chin. I am a witch. No, not really. And honestly, the warts on my chin don't really bother me. Am I getting too married and too old that I am not bothered by such things? I don't think so.
So, I was given a cream and told that if it didn't "eat the skin away" then she could "burn them off." (Again, the things we'll do for vanities sake. Not that I won't do it, I'm just aware that it seems a little absurd.)
So, I have warts on my chin. And I eat peanut butter out of the jar and I take more than one Splenda from Starbucks and I reuse my plastic baggies and have credit card debt and have shoved a person or two when getting off the subway. But, God loves me. Warts and all.
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