On a side note - I am also neurotically catious about making such a statement in case the gods say "oh she likes scars, lets give her one to remember - third degree burns on most of her face, perhaps?" It irritates me, gets in the way of a good story. Anyhow, throwing said caution to the wind.
I love scars and the tales they tell.
As a kid I had a friend - well if I'm honest he was more of a slave really. I called him Wheelbarrow. See? I'm sure he actually had a name, but I didn't know it. I would climb into the cement crusted wheelbarrow like a princess royal, wave my grubby hand at Wheelbarrow and say "Wheelbarrow, lets go" And he, the poor fellow, would push me around for hours. And hours. It's a mystery really why he did it. Usually I'd sit in the wheelbarrow, but one day I chose to sit on the prow, if you will, and put my feet on that metal thingy that goes around the wheel. And on the wheel was a sharp metal tab that cut a perfect slice into my heel. To this day I have a pretty silver scar on my left heel.
Moving up. Right calf. An extremely innocuous fall off a motorbike left me with an 8 inch long 3 inch wide burn on my leg - the shape of a good sized fish. The burn was pink and raw to begin with, then looked like a big Texan portion piece of steak glued to my calf. Slowly it faded away until all you can see now, if you look really closely, is a faint pattern of silvery lines.
Then there are the other motorbike scars, etched about my body from a less innocuous fall. One of those falls that when you finally get your bearings back and dust yourself off you wonder how on earth you have bruises and grazes in so many different places. It must have been quite the tumble. Shortly thereafter my mother took some pictures of me for an art work she was doing, naked in an old crumbled overgrown building at the bottom of the garden. Covered in scabs.
I had a biblical infestation of boils as a child. They were numerous and pustulous and just plain gross. At one time I had fifty something boils on my legs alone. Sis hey? The scars are mostly gone save for a neat little round scar on my left knee, that looks like a perfectly formed 22 bullet hole - complete with exit wound on the other side.
Then on my right outer thigh is a little silver inch worm of a scar. James Schulz had a pet warthog who was mostly very friendly but would occasionally attack at random. When I was about 9 I used to go for French lesson's at James Shultz's house (he also had a baby monkey that thought it was a cat) and one day the warthog went for his son, who must have been about 5 at the time. I managed to rush in and grab the son, Daniel, before the warthog got him. And she tusked me instead, the bitch. I pretended to be very brave and said it didn't hurt at all, but it bloody did!
I have a couple on my wrist, one from an air conditioning unit, and another from some scaffolding that was the set of a play I was in. Another on my head from an old school basketball injury. Heads bleed, huh?
Aaaaanyway, that's enough for now.
Now your turn. What are your most interesting scars?
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It's pretty much all tree these days isn't it?
