Oh indeed, I don’t know anyone with more moles than I have, with the possible exception of my sister. Oddly, neither of our parents had any to speak of. I’ve never liked them, but I don’t think anything of them (although it took me ages to recover from the trauma of my sister singing “I am a mole and I live in a hole” to the one in my armpit, when we were children. I mean, by ages, several decades) and whoever would think of researching their health benefits?
Someone did – it’s the penultimate item, if you scroll down. It’s not often that a random health ‘discovery’ (for I don’t know how in-depth the study was) confers a health benefit on me. The other side of the coin, that I’m more likely to develop a malignant melanoma, is no surprise, of course and I do peer at bits of me, wondering which bits I recognise, which are likely to be spatters of mud and which, although new, are probably fine – for if I toddled off to the doctor for every new mole, he would soon become tired of the sight of me – but I’m more resigned than anxious.
I don’t exaggerate their number, by the way. I’ve just counted 22 on my left forearm and 11 on the right one. But an inbuilt protection against heart disease and osteoporosis, that’s given me a new respect for the blobs.