Paul has this idea that because i have dark skin i must have some cancerous cells somewhere.  For the past two years he has been arguing with me to go to the dermatologist, convinced that I will have my skin dissected and my life saved.  I, obviously, refuse to go.

I know there is nothing wrong with me, a) because I have dark skin due to my  Mexican heritage and I am not a blond-haired blue-eyed whitey like he is.  And b) i’ve had really shitty insurance and just refused to pay the ridiculous fees to be seen and have any sort of procedure.

Now I am officially a mrs., and with that comes great perks, like better health insurance and someone to always blame for leaving the last roll of toilet paper in the enormous costco sized bag, rather than just taking it out and putting it in the bathroom.

P-lo also knows these great perks and is trying to get me to go to dr. dermi, his hero over in beverly hills that gouges swabs of skin out of paul on a bi-weekly basis.  I am no fool, resorting back to reason a) that I am still just a blessed dark skin beauty.

Enter the bet.  I wanted to go get a facial peel to help get rid of some of my sun spots and reverse time on my skin like the magic that was promised in the brochure (i had a groupon).  Paul said that dr. fabulous can also do this, but will freeze my sun spots and look for other dangerous spots.  I still said no.  So, Paul came up with the following terms:

I have to go to dr. miracle-worker on monday, he will freeze any of my sun spots because that is part of the deal.  If I go and he finds nothing else but purely aesthetic problems because I die for vanity, then Paul has to give me a half an hour massage for 6 nights in a row.  HOWEVER, if he finds one teensy weeny thing that could have been dangerous, I get no massage.

So really, I win because i KNOW i’m fine and I’m going to get a massage all next week!  Feel free to take bets on our bet.  But i’d side with me.


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