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.