Literal: On the bottom of my feet. Every two to three summers, as I walk about in sandals, I manage to get several warts. And the over-the-counter stuff never helps.
In the past, this affliction has meant going to the campus "wart clinic"--yes, they actually have one--where the self-described "wart nurse" administers
But. . . I now have a CHOICE in doctors, since for this summer I have both student health insurance and Mr. Trillwing's insurance. Wheeeeee!
So I'm thinking that I'll skip the liquid nitrogen torture and instead make an appointment with Dr. Wonderful. Unfortunately, her office is busy, and unless I convince the receptionist that these are warts! of! imminent! doom! I may have to wait a couple of months to get in.
Once I do get an appointment, though, I may have trouble convincing her that the ointment I'm seeking is really for my feet.
Because the stuff that works on my feet, as prescribed by the campus dermatologist, is none other than genital wart cream.
Just imagine my first personal visit to Dr. Wonderful (who, to make things more awkward in this case, I've befriended outside the office): "Yeah. . . It's great to see you again. How are the kids? Hey, can I get some of that genital wart cream? Really, it's for my feet. Really."