Sunday, March 3, 2013

The 30-Day Blogging Challenge: Day 28 A Scar You Have and Its Story

I don't have a scar, but wouldn't it be cool to have a lightning bolt shaped scar on your forehead like Harry Potter? At least I think it would. Or maybe something else, like a peace symbol! Or a heart! Or a 'K' for the first letter of my name! Oh the possibilities . . .

What's a scar you have and its story? If you don't have one, make one up! Leave a comment! :D

7 comments:

Dr. Mark said...

That lightning bolt scar came at quite a price, though. I've got one on my foot from when I dropped a glass as a kid and got cut by a shard. I was about 3 and it was a McDonald's glass--the Hamburgler, I think.

I also have a scar on my left hand from when I fell off of a skateboard while we were "butt-board" racing at the park near my house. It's sort of like doing the luge, without all the ice and pads and safety features.

Boquinha said...

That was nice of Daddy not to mention the one he has on his back, courtesy of yours truly.

I have one on my left hand, but I don't know what it's from.

I think I might have one on my neck where a stick poked into my neck and thankfully didn't hurt me as badly as it could've. I was in school (a very old building) and was reaching up some stairs for my purse when a pointy wooden stick fell as I stepped down and got me in the neck. Scary, right? Thankfully, everything was fine. :)

Dr. Mark said...

I forgot all about the one on my back. Funny story . . .

The Magic Violinist said...

I've never heard this story before . . . Care to tell it later today? ;)

Jimmy said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Jimmy said...

I was supporting our local theater group's production of River Dance when a fire broke out in the middle of their fastest moving number. Someone yelled "Fire!" and within seconds I found myself trampled in the aisle as the audience desperately scrambled to exit the building. Despite the panic, the performers continued dancing in perfect Irish form, hands stiffly at their sides, eyes looking straight ahead, not once deviating from their choreography, as they made their way after the crowd towards the fire exit. Trapped on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, it should come as no surprise that the scar just under my right eye at the top of my cheekbone is the result of the repeated high-heeled puncture wounds of the disciplined line of female Irish dancers who were determined that the show must go on, never stopping to notice that they were tapping rapid fire on anything underneath their feet.

Every time I look in the mirror and see that scar, I re-live the trauma of that fateful moment. If only I had four hands instead of two. I could have used those hands to protect my face instead of my groin.

Boquinha said...

Hilarious, Jimmy. Even more so, because I totally fell for it and thought it was a real story. Kudos to you on your story telling! (Or shame on me for my gullibility).