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Scars are awesome. My scars are all pretty small.
I have one on my forehead from when, age two, the kids my mom looked after hung my sweater on hinge where a door used to be. I fell from the stool I used to get my sweater and hit my head on the lower hinge. Two stiches.
I have one on my chin. The forks on my wicked bike snapped as I went over a speed bump (I'd weakened the place where my forks met the frame a week or so earlier when I lost control of my bike walking it down a steep hill and it crashed into a post) I went over the handlebars and used my chin to stop my fall on the concrete. Two stitches, no freezing (I hated needles).
I have a small one on my wrist where I was cut playing a version of Mumblety-peg with a friend.
I also have a good-sized one on my stomach where my appendix was removed. There is a long story with that one. Suffice it to say that I am married to my wife because of my appendix. Cosmic sledgehammer came calling and let me know that my course of action was not correct.
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"My hands are on fire. Hands are on fire. Ain't got no more time for all you charlatans and liars."
- Old Man Luedecke
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