Let me preface this little spiel by saying that in no way was this voluntary plastic surgery. No Botox, no “enhancements” with hopes of a film career or getting a new nose in attempt to look like a Ken doll or anything like that. (Although it may have been a decent idea to see if there was anything that could have been done about the incessant bags under my eyes to really give me that “lively” look I’ve always strived for.) Anyhoo, this was "plastic surgery," if you even want to call it that after reading, in that it was pretty much medically necessary.

So I’ve always had this small bump no bigger than a pimple under my jaw but then senior year of high school it blew up, so I got it drained and that was that. Well fast-forward to 2016 and the same thing happened again, only this time it was more painful.

Now it wasn’t even that noticeable at first, so I was still able to be social without feeling like people were looking at me funny and go about my usual weekend shenanigans. But then it got a lot more red and bulbous. To get a more accurate depiction of what I’m talking about refer to the picture below to see what I pretty much looked like:

Ladies if you think that this look^ doesn’t exactly drip machismo you would be 100% correct.

So you see the issue. After talking to my doctor they thought that this dragon egg on my neck was significant enough to where I needed to see a plastic surgeon. I’ve never done this before, and all I could think of was all that Hollywood mumbo-jumbo involved with plastic surgery so I was a little curious to see how this would play out.

So after doing all the basic everyday stuff you do at the doctors, they determined it was a cyst. Finally, it was operation time. I wasn’t sure how they were going to it, like if they were going to put me asleep or not. They kept me awake, but they didn’t give me any hardcore drugs like they do at the dentist or something, which was kind of a letdown, because I thought that would have been an entertaining way to spend an afternoon. All they did was numb the crap out of it, and began digging away.

Since I was fully conscience, I was able to communicate with the doctor and his lovely assistant. We had a nice conversation about Meghan Trainor for a good few minutes. I’m not sure why but this topic of conversation seemed to make a weird amount of sense to me when getting a cyst removed. We then started talking about my future plans which I think they could tell stressed me out a bit so that didn’t last too long.

After it was over they informed me that it was just a basic epidermic cyst, which meant it was fine and benign so I was all good in the hood. Talk about a sigh of relief, since my brain immediately went to the worst case scenario when this problem arose in the first place.

But here’s the kicker. The part of plastic surgery they don’t tell you about is that the aftermath stinks on ice. This wasn’t even major plastic surgery and I still have to go through this ordeal. For starters, I now have this little hole where the cyst was that I have to stuff gauze into as if I were plugging a drain (very attractive) then put a Band-Aid over top. I need to do it with tweezers so I’m essentially playing the game Operation on myself. I basically look like a six-foot tall piggy bank. So if you see me walking the street where there’s meter parking and you’re short on change holler at your boy. Shaving was also top ten most petrifying experiences of my life.

Also, I’m on a strong anti-biotic which means that my weekend is completely shot. Sure there’s lots of fun things to do sober but all of my friends are between the ages of 20 and 23. So yeah I’m pretty much all alone here.

Then there’s the issue of the public. When people see me with this huge Band-Aid on my neck they always give me a look. (Admittedly it’s pretty funny.) But it’s not one of those “Hey that’s kind of hot” looks that Nelly used to get in the early 2000’s for his Band-Aid. It’s more of a “Yeugh what the hell disease is that dude carrying?”

It’s for these reasons that I fundamentally do not understand why someone would voluntarily get plastic surgery when it isn’t medically necessary. It is the biggest inconvenience on the face of the planet, and like I said, mine was so minor compared to most pretty much all other plastic surgeries. I don't even know if you can consider it plastic surgery.

Ah well, it should only be like this another few days anyway then I’ll be right back up on that horse making questionable decisions next weekend. Or even this weekend who knows I’m a sick puppy. Also, if anyone complains that this was “TMI” for them, you’re the one who clicked on an online article about plastic surgery. I’m not sure what exactly you were expecting.

So that’s my story and while it may seem a little random it’s all about clicks and content when writing on the Internet baby. Don’t hate the player hate the game. Which is exactly how I feel about this experience. Liked the players (the nurse, the doctor, and myself) but this game can go kick rocks.