When I lived out on the farm with my Grandma we had this really old, ratty camping trailer rotting beside the workshed. Apparently, when I was very young (possibly before I even lived on the farm itself) I climbed onto the bed at the back and fell off, directly onto my head/neck. I got a nasty gash on my forehead with a still-visible scar to boot. That was the first time I had stitches done.
When I was about 10 I was absolutely INSANE about making fresh lemonade. Just completely bananas about the entire process. Not to sell or anything, just for forcing down my family's throats.
Anyhoo, one morning I woke up fairly early and decided to make some Lemonade. I sliced a few lemons/limes in half, and then somehow unwittingly spun the blade around so it was cutting-side up. I tried to force the now difficult knife down on the lime, but instead sliced open the bottom part of my right index finger real good. First time I saw skinless flesh. Drizzled in citrus juice. Yowza.
That got stitches too, but not until like 12 god damn hours later, at which point it hurt like the dickens.
Last edited by Mac Sirloin; 08-01-2011 at 08:31 PM..
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