Body Language

One of the side effects of aging, at least in my family, is an assortment of dermatological decorations … moles, skin tags, age spots and the like.  My Dad had them and now, so do I.   As a health conscious senior, I keep an eye on these uninvited passengers, since they can sometimes evolve into a skin cancer.   I also have my doctor give me the once over every time I see him.  So far I’ve been lucky but I have had few skin tags removed because they are in places that snag on clothing.  A while back, I noticed a rather large raised patch of rough skin on my right forearm.  Anything new worries me.  I’m going to have Dr. G look at this, I told my wife, Muri.   A while later, I was working on a technical problem at my desk and noticed that I was biting on that exact spot on my arm.  My dermatological decoration was my Thinking Spot, where I unconsciously bite my arm when I’m thinking.  Sitting here a moment ago, trying to come up with a next sentence, I noticed I was chewing the ends of my mustache … and the rough spot on my arm is gone.  I guess I’ve moved my Thinking Spot.   As we were leaving the house for Arizona two weeks ago, Muri suddenly snapped her fingers.  What did you forget? I said.  Me?  When I forget something, I slap my right thigh with my right hand (at my age, I could hurt myself trying to slap my left thigh with my right hand).  I asked my daughter what she does when she forgets something.  I just say “Shit,” she said.  I sometimes combine an expletive with a leg slap if I forget something important, the vulgarity of the expletive directly proportional to the importance of the forgotten item.  I can always tell when Muri is thinking because she bites the inside of her lip or cheek.  We must be oral thinkers.