"So, what do you do?" my dermatologist asks, scanning a form on which my job clearly occupies a box.
Dr. Skin is a middle-aged man with a full head of hair, a remarkably leathery and pocked face, and a striking lack of sideburns.
I'm sitting cross-legged on a paper-covered metal examination table. On the plaster walls, citations and diplomas share space with high-definition illustrations of angry red lesions. Looking at them, my morning hunger suddenly disappears... yet it's the missing sideburns that disturb me most. Without them, Skin's hair looks like a bicycle helmet.
I've been wearing nothing but a thin gown and my underwear for nearly ten minutes, but we haven't yet discussed the dry-as-desert rash on my leg. Skin's assistant, a young Hispanic woman named Marci, is typing on a laptop.
"I'm a writer."
"Oh yeah? What kind?" he asks
The itchy-leg kind.
"Essays," I say.
"My girlfriend's daughter - she's in high school. She wants to be a writer. Or a journalist. She hates me. But I'm looking to change that. Can you help her? Do you counsel young writers?"
"Sure."
"Hold on," Dr. Skin says, and pull out his cell phone. He thumbs a few numbers, then puts the phone to his ear.
"Honey, I'm talking to a writer who can help Donna. Hang on."
Skin hands me the phone. "It's my girlfriend, Lisa."
Behind him, Marci rolls her eyes.
After an awkward introduction, I give Lisa my email address, and hand the phone back to Dr. Skin.
He drops the phone in his lab coat pocket and bends down to look at my leg.
"You have kids?" he asks.
"Three - 12, 9, and 9."
"They go to school around here?"
"They live with their mother."
"Oh, you're divorced."
"Remarried."
"Oh..." Dr. Skin says, intrigued.
Overt the P.A. system, we hear Skin's name.
"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves.
I look at Marci. "Is he divorced?" I ask.
"Still separated," She says quietly, but quickly. "And he immediately finds this one. She's been divorced THREE TIMES herself. I told him--"
Dr. Skin comes back in the room. He tells me to get dressed and types something into the laptop.
"I met Lisa three months ago on Match.com," he says, grabbing his cell phone again. He pulls up a photo and points it at me like a flashlight.
"She's hot, right?"
Lisa is a raven-haired 40-ish woman in a tight dress standing next to a shimmering pool. She's posed unnaturally, as if the photographer said, "Look sexy!" She reminds me of those "Real Housewives" on TV.
"Nice," I say, in much the same way I'd compliment someone's lawn. "So, about this rash..."
"I'm writing up a cream for you. Twice a day."
"It's not a fungus or something like that?"
Skin looks at me like I'm an idiot.
"You're just dry and irritated." Correct on both counts.
As I pull on my jeans, Dr. Skin looks at me.
"I live just down the road from my kids. Maybe that's bad, I don't know. They like Lisa, but her kid just hates me. I need to show her I'm for real, that I'm all in."
"Her daughter probably doesn't hate you," I say helpfully, "she just hates what you represent."
She probably hates him as well; Mom's latest boyfriend is a dermatologist with bad skin? That's the stuff of great teen novels.
With a blue Sharpie, Dr. Skin draws a week-length timeline on the sanitary paper covering the exam table.
"These nights I'm with the kids," he says, pointing. "These nights are for my girlfriend. But this night here is... for the guys."
The schedule clearly consoles him -- it's a feeling I recognize and remember, even though I'm hardly a "guy's night" kind of guy. When men are set adrift, they look for anything to which they can anchor their lives again. Even a simple schedule. Especially a girlfriend.
For all his inappropriate, lust-struck clumsiness, I feel a kinship with my dermatologist. I know where he lives -- not the place down the road from his kids, but the messy flophouse in his own mind. A place for men to detox from the expectations that once surrounded and defined them. Some men pass through quickly; others never leave.
Finally dressed, I extend a hand to Dr. Skin. He takes it and looks at me expectantly.
"Take your time," I say impulsively. "Figure out who you are, what you want, and what kind of dad you are. That's all you're supposed to do right now."
Marci rips off the paper decorated with Dr. Skin's scribbles, tosses it in the garbage, and rolls out a new one. She then hands me a bag filled with tiny samples.
When I turn back, Skin is showing me the same digital photo of his girlfriend.
"She's really good-looking, right?"
I can't believe it... nor do people to whom I've told this story.
A few days later I get an email from Lisa, Skin's girlfriend, and instantly delete it. I sympathize with the good doctor, I really do. I just have no skin in that game.
Originally Published at The Good Men Project.
Joel Schwartzberg is a nationally-published personal essayist and author of the award-winning collection The 40-Year-Old Version: Humoirs of a Divorced Dad
Follow Joel Schwartzberg on Twitter: www.twitter.com/joeljest
Well,many of us end up living in our cars or in some trailer down by the river while our ex's enjoy the alimony and child support which they use to support their new boyfriends in the family home.
I know, this happened to me, (two years in my car) and I was vice-president of a 70 person company.
Divorce in America is no laughing matter.
Ahh what is the fun in that ? I love a circus and that guy sounds is the ringmaster.
Your choices are for long term relationship seekers on sites like match and eharmony, and sites that advertise things like "get laid tonight". There is nothing in between.
There are a lot of boys out there that never grew up. Men are totally different.
Begin by giving your oldest child a digital tape recorder. These are very tiny, and can record for days without running out of space. Have your child hide the recorder in a pocket, and record all her conversations with the girlfriend. (Not over the phone because that might be illegal in your State.) If the girlfriend is truly nuts, it shouldn't take long to get a recording that proves she should not be in contact with the children.
Then see your lawyer to get a motion filed to modify the terms of custody/visitation requiring your ex to prevent her from contact with the children. Use the tapes as evidence. This is pretty major for a step-mother, so expect the Court to require your children to attend therapy with her to facilitate a better relationship, not just ban her for life.
You will be better able to judge the girlfriend's actions by listening to tapes of her interacting with your children, than by their reports, since they know you dislike her. If you don't hear anything extremely objectionable, than you need to suck it up, recognize this person will be a constant in your children's lives, and do your best to help the kids get along with her.
Call the PD and/or child protect services for advice on how to document your concerns with the least amount of involvement by your children as possible.
Your post doesn't mention your ex so I assume he does not believe that his future wife has done these terrible things. Tread lightly in confronting either of them until you consult the authorities for advice if you truly believe you or your children may be in danger. Make sure that whom ever you contact documents your call/meeting with them.
As far as men being the ones to immediately grab a relationship/marriage after a divorce, sorry, not buying it. I live in a large metro area and have been a member of several groups of singles/divorcees and have many male friends who in the past few years were left by their wives. Many of those women are already remarried. Almost none of the men have really even started to date. Just saying...
Thank you for this entertaining, and itch-inducing piece :) I hope the rash, despite the lame doctor is better.
I’m surprised Dr. Skin went the Match.com route. Seems like someone with his aesthetic sensibilities would find or create his own Lisa right there in his office.