I was sitting down and twaddling the other day and chanced to spot the scar on my knee and broke out smiling at the memory associated with it. On the way back home from school I was shoved by a bull from behind and fell flat onto my nose! I have since strongly believed bulls get enraged on seeing red, even though the only red on me that day was on my buckle - to represent my house colour.
I have a ton load of scars, some from before I could do harm to myself. Like my pierced ears. Apparently my brother threw a fit, scattered a bag of husk all around, and cried his eyes out when they were getting them pierced! Every scar has a story and however stupid the story, it is somehow a fond memory. Whats with scars and the pride associated with them? Like right now -- I love telling the stories about my scars :D Even though some of them are far from being battle scars - like the ones on my fingers from having cut myself while cooking. Or the one on my leg from when I was stupid enough to stand it right next to the muffler of a bike just after we got back from a ride on it. Is it pride or just fondness? for the memories associated with it. Whichever it is, the slightest thing seems to be getting me into flashback mode these days :D
So I'll sign off here, with a smile that's just that little bit straighter thanks to the knock I got on my head when I was tall enough for my front tooth to get chipped off and lose its crookedness on the wall around our home :)
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