The stories of my scars

Do, do, do, la, la, la, la, do, do. As the world has spun on its slant axis, many odd objects have found themselves in violent encounter with my largest organ, these are The Stories of My Scars.

My brother graduated high school in the mid 1990s. He went to college. My world was still filled with Ninja Turtles. In college he had his ears pierced. I remember thinking that getting a piercing was very cool.

Some how I had the idea that you could pierce your finger or toe. I had already pierced my fingernail. It wasn’t legitimate enough, my nail piercing.

In the cold snowy winters, after a while of playing, my toes would be numb. I felt that this was the perfect chance to pierce the edge my toe.

I had heard of people using safety pins to pierce their belly buttons. I just used whatever pin I could find.

Fortunately I am not a tough guy. The pin, being pressed into my toe, hit a spot a little too deep for my comfort. So I pushed it through the outer part of my skin that has less feeling. I never planned out how I would leave the pin in place so that the hole would heal. I think I just took it out because I knew that it wasn’t deep enough. I know I tried this between my toes and thumbs three or four times.

So to be completely transparent these aren’t really scars. They did leave scars at the time but they have been erased.

Scars that have been erased, scars that have been erased...