My scars

Scars usually have good stories behind them. I don’t have very many, and none of mine are impressive. But here’s what I’ve got:

  • Squarish patch under right eyebrow. I was selling pizza coupons door-to-door in New Mexico during a hailstorm. A bee stung me and my eye swelled shut.
  • Four white dots on my sternum, in a straight line. From my childhood cat, who didn’t want to snuggle.
  • White slash on left forearm. Same cat. He usually liked to snuggle, but when he didn’t, he let you know very quickly.
  • White line on underside of left forearm. I was a Girl Scout camp counselor when I was 12. Someone had put a cookie cooling rack over a campfire (to measure something). Unknowingly, I picked the rack up and tucked it under my arm. *sizzle* A tic-tac-toe board of burns up my entire arm from wrist to armpit. After a decade, most of the lines faded away. All that remains is about an inch near my elbow.
  • Circular white dot, back of my right hand. I can’t remember at all where this came from, but it’s old.
  • Round reddish bump on my back. I think it’s an ingrown hair or a zit that scarred over. I’ve never quite figured out what it is.
  • Two pairs of holes, one on either side of each nipple. Hey, the piercings have to go somewhere! These probably aren’t scars, since they were intentional.
  • That’s it. Although I’m sure I had other scars that have vanished. I used to have a huge scar on my shin from a vicious flesh-eating bicycle.

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