Next week, on Saturday the 20th of September, my face will be slashed. Well, only the left side. The slashing won't be done by a plastic surgeon or a mugger (please God). The deed will be performed by a Professor, a top expert in the arcane domain of salivary gland surgery and will (please God, allright?) be for my own good. The Prof will delicately (please, please Professor) excise a small, nearly invisible and painless lump, presumed innocent after much analysis, which has been residing on or in the parotid gland next to my ear for at least three years. Why bother removing it, I hear you asking. Because it grows - very very slowly, but grows. And since I fully intend to live for the longest possible time in the best possible health and the least possible disfigurement, removal of the alien lump is recommended. The op will take about an hour, under general anesthetic, and I will be in hospital for only one night.
Am I worried? Consciously, no. Unconsciously, how do I know? There's probably a dark sea of trembling jelly down there, fearing metamorphosis into scarface or palsyface. The risks have been explained to me and I have listened carefully. But somehow, even my natural mistrust of any technical procedure performed by anyone other than myself has failed to scare me shitless. I will survive, oh yeah, and continue to be as beautiful as I am. (God, are you listening?)
Meanwhile, protective invocations, incantations and even incense will be most welcome.