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I had a verruca.
It was treated at school in those days. The chiropodist came round weekly.
I was gutted that the one lesson it took me out of was English Lit. Why not Maths or Geography?!
I had to ask him to stop telling me what he was doing.
He was trying to reassure me, but as soon as I saw the scalpel I felt like retching. I was a delicate flower in those days. Matron spent half the appointments worried I was going to faint.
Four years later and my brother had to go to an evening clinic for his.
Guess it wasn't cost effective.
Talking secrets - although I may have said this before - I once stuck a love-rival's ring (jewellery) up my arse (ring). And the handle of her hairbrush. I laughed for ages about whether she would wonder what the faint whiff was. Served her right for leaving them in his bedroom.
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