I talk like Hilary Banks, and I’ve been asked many, many a time, if I’m from California. I can’t help it. But that leads most people to believe I’m too la la la foufy to actually do anything or actually get hurt doing stuff, you’ve not spent enough time with me. So I bring you this – my favorite scar.
When I was in 6th grade, after a particularly riveting CCD sesh (points for anyone who knows what that was), I was making a can of Chef Boyardee to eat for a late dinner.
Side note: Despite how hard my parents worked to keep me in church (CCD, etc), I am still a heathen, as well evidenced by my “Jesus Shaves” mug.
Anyhoo, so my scar. Back in the day, when I was eating Boyardee, the way you opened the cans was just like a regular thing. There were none of those easy like pop top cans like they have now. So I used one of those old-school can openers, and got to work trying to open that can! I shoved it open with my thumb and it started to open, then got stuck halfway. And that’s when all hell broke loose. The momentum from the shove kept my finger going, and before I knew it, I’d sliced my thumb wide open on this can.
I knew it was bad, so I close my eyes and started wailing. With a kitchen towel sopping up the blood, my mom took me to the hospital where my brother’d been born, and once we got there, they stitched that sucker up. I think a bunch of stitches on the inside, and some more on the outside to seal it up.
Evidently, when I sliced my finger, I got it pretty deep because I have nerve damage in the finger. Even now, if I push on the thumb, I get this horrible sensation like I’ve hit my funny bone, so I just avoid it, and I’ve learned to type so I don’t hit that part in my finger.
And that, my dear friends, is the story of my favorite scar.
So tell me friends, what’s your favorite scar! I want a good story!