Sheer Guts, Determination and Bloody Stupidity

I will admit it, I'm getting on in years.

Certain physiological changes happen to our bodies once we get past 50.

Creaking knees
Rheumy eyes
Toenails turning into something from Alien v Predator
Hairs growing in places never seen before (Between eyebrows, in ears, on ears, behind ears (what the Hell is it with hair and ears anyway?) nostrils, arse, backs of knuckles, chest, groin, etc.)
Hair disappearing from places always seen before.  Head.
Distressing sounds/odours/organic material erupting from bowels.
Hemorrhoids long since forgotten suddenly regenerating and growing like tomatoes under a summer sun and being fed on Blood and Bone. (I leave the graphical analogy to the gentle reader)

But something else occurs that I've never read about before.

Skin Tags.

My beloved (still decapitalised after the missing beer from the fridge episode), bought me a gold chain and gold Chinese symbol, which looks like this.

Because it was partly a gift from my now late Mother in Law (a lovely lady) and my beloved, I've worn it every day for the last 34 years.
This has caused problems as the continual wear irritates the epidermis, and causes unsightly growths to appear, namely skin tags.

These are slightly disgusting blemishes, but are supposedly benign, with little or no risk of turning cancerous, but I still wanted rid of them, because they were irritating. (and were a sign of rapidly approaching decrepitude)

I had a variety of choices.

1. I could go to my Doctor and pay to have them burnt off with Liquid Nitrogen
2. I could ask my beloved to tie them off with nylon thread.
3. I could cover them with peanut butter and let the Wetas chew them off during the night.
4. I could cut them off myself.

Doctors cost money, so that's them off the list (I am Scottish. Parsimony above all)
My beloved began retching at the very thought of inflicting pain upon me (actually, I think if I'd mentioned red hot pokers she'd have been all for it. It's all a matter of scale)
I don't like insects, especially bloody Wetas, so that's gone.

This is a Weta.  No Thanks .

It just leaves doing it myself (not unknown to blokes of my age.  I refuse to give further details)

So, armed with a pair of toenail clippers, a bottle of Betnovate solution and a very large libation of whisky I started the process.

Not the ones for a man to choose

The Big Clipper
A Man's Tool (So to speak)

1. Take a drink of the usquebaugh.
2. Locate tag in mirror
3. Dab with antiseptic solution
4. Position Nail Clippers around the neck of the tag
5. Take another large drink of usquebaugh
6. Grit teeth
7. Squeeze clipper actuator
8. Scream briefly
9. Mop up blood spray and fragments of tag-head (like small waxy match-heads)
10. Dab again with the Betnovate until bleeding ceases.
11. Recuperate with another large drink of usquebaugh
12. Repeat process. 

Luckily, after about 3 or 4 tags, whisky anaesthesia  begins to set in, so reducing the pain.
Unluckily, after about 3 or 4 tags, whisky anti-coordination begins to set in, so increasing the chance of snipping the wrong bit of f*cking skin.

Do you have any idea how sharp these toenail clippers are?
No wonder airport security ban the bloody things.
If my coordination had been much worse, I think my Jugular, or possibly my Carotid might have been nicked.

I've had to replace my shirt.

Haemoglobin stains are a bastard to remove, especially after being swamped in Betnovate and Acriflavine (I dropped the f*cking Betnovate bottle down the toilet.  Blood is so slippery, and we only had some Acriflavine left.)  Do you know how YELLOW that stuff is. My fingers (and neck, mouth forehead and chest; I panicked, OK?) were so stained that it makes me look like a 100-a-day nicotine addict.

My beloved refused to let me into our bed, muttering something about blood stains being so difficult to remove. (Has she been practicing for some future event that I know not of?)

However, most of the skin tags are now gone.

However, I am now the proud owner of 16 semi-circular wounds around my neck.

It looks like I've been savaged by a horde of short-sighted vampires cursed with pursed lips and short teeth.

I tell you, when all else fails, brute force, ignorance and an abundance of whisky will overcome.

Works for me.

I wonder if I can use the same technique on hemorrhoids (piles)?
Perhaps with more whisky?

Perhaps not.

Some things can be taken too far.