A few weeks ago I had a little growth on the front of my right thigh that I wanted the dermatologist to take a look at. My longtime derm guy has retired, and the practice is now run on an entirely different basis by a crew from Yale. I used to go in and Sal would say, “Ok, strip down and let me take a look.” Now I’m escorted into a much more modern space and the tech says, “Would you like a gown?” A gown? I had to ask what she was talking about. Anyway, they decided that whatever it was had to be sliced out, and I’ve been wandering around for a few days with a piece of gauze taped over a small incision. I’ve had to renew it several times, and this adhesive action has reminded me that as a runner in college I had to shave my legs below the knees to be taped every afternoon, and the trainer would spray on Cramer Tuf-Skin to make the tape adhere. Tuf-Skin over time would turn your flesh green unless you scrubbed it off with rubbing alcohol, which I seldom bothered with. So I spent my late teens and early twenties with stubbly green legs. I looked like a diseased tomato vine.