And as for my family...
Me: I have a scar vaguely shaped like the number 4 on the third toe of my right foot. I was running late for school when I dropped a rather large drawer full of socks on my foot. I grabbed a pair, dashed off, and bled all over my shoe. It's still raised and pink 12 years later. I also have a big one on each of my knees. I was 12, and I thought it would be really fun to run as fast as I could on my aunt's treadmill and then jump off. Needless to say, after having had pus-oozing scabs for two months and having the damn scars for 11 years, I can assure everyone it's really not that entertaining.

My sister: She was 2, and I had taught her to hoist herself up between her bureau and our desk and balance like a gymnast. She swung her feet back and forth, lost her balance, and smacked the bridge of her nose on the rather sharp-edged headboard of her bed. It made a sickening *thunk* and her nose started pouring blood. She still has a little line there; it sort of looks like she had an after-market nose installed.

I am NOT sorry about the length. I am never sorry.
(Shannon623, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 4:58, closed)