David Sedaris has always reminded me of a latter day Mark Twain, a century on and wholly unrestrained but with the same talent for comedic rhythm and turn of phrase that ranges between consistently tongue-in-cheek witty to laugh-out-loud hilarious, and yet reserving a dark cloud in one fist which might be sprung on the reader at any moment.
I've just finished his 2018 book of essays, Calypso. These are largely about Sedaris' oddball family members (from the point of view of the chief oddball, Sedaris, of course) and very often about aging as the author finds himself reaching 60. I can identify.
As with Twain, Sedaris is brutally honest, especially about himself, and plays at being completely oblivious to socially acceptable norms. Of course, he is not really oblivious. He is merely cantankerous.
In the title essay, Calypso, Sedaris writes of going to a doctor's office after discovering a lipoma beneath his skin.
He (the doctor) took an ultrasound of my fatty tumor and said that he could remove it the following week.