Wednesday I am having armpit surgery. OK, stop guffawing. Science fiction is on the other channel. It could happen to you, too, you know.

There is a lump there, a recurrence from another incident in December. The doctor says it’s something called Hidradenitis.

My compassionate wife just came in to tell me it reminded her of a conversation in My Big Fat Greek Wedding:

Aunt Voula: [to Ian's parents] “Now, you are family. Okay. All my life, I had a lump at the back of my neck, right here. Always, a lump. Then I started menopause and the lump got bigger from the ‘hormonees.’ It started to grow. So I go to the doctor, and he did the bio… the b… the… the bios… the… b… the ‘bobopsy.’ Inside the lump he found teeth and a spinal cord. Yes. Inside the lump was my twin.”

My lump, my twin.

I think my mother warned me about this armpit thing years ago, when I refused to bathe. Mothers are always right. I guess I did smell like a goat. Little did I know the form that lingering bacteria might take in my 50s.

I know what some of you are thinking: Mike has always been rather odd, and perhaps this explains it. I don’t deny the oddness thing, but I don’t think the surgery will have much effect on it. But you never know.

If only my mother had sprayed Windex on it when I was young.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4